Bubbles and Troubles (11 page)

Brock’s hand tightened into a fist. “Damn Prescott and his greed,” he muttered. “Doesn’t he know that everything he has is thanks to us?”

Carmen placed one cool hand on his shoulder. “Remember, Brock, we’re going to do this your way, with no violence. You’re not your father or Gavin, both of whom are ready to tear apart anything that opposes them. You’re not your bloodthirsty sister, who’s daydreaming about switchblades. You’re also not Korbin, who’s content to let others deal with the problem and hope for the best.” She gave his thick shoulder a squeeze. “We can fix this without harming a hair on Old Man Prescott’s head.”

Inside, Calvin Prescott eased his bare feet into worn slippers. The manor, with its stone walls and marble floors, was cool even in the summer, but with electricity costs the way they were, using the heater was a luxury reserved for the coldest days of winter. As he shut his bedroom door, a puff of dust blew down from one of the few paintings left in the place. Calvin sneezed mightily and made his way downstairs.

He leaned against the counter as he waited for the kettle to boil and daydreamed.
Once I finalise the sale,
he thought lazily,
I’ll call in some of those people who buy antiques and such and clear out the rest of this place. Then I’ll put the manor on the market. Even in its current condition, it’s a fine home.
His eyes watered and he scrubbed at them with the back of his hand then continued his mental planning.
I’ll pocket the earnings and deposit them and head south. I’ll find a nice place near the ocean where it’s always warm. The Florida Keys, perhaps?

The kettle began to scream and Calvin removed it from the stove. After pouring the steaming water into his teapot to seep, he placed it on a tray with a teacup and a plate of sardines and crackers and walked into his library. There he eased into a threadbare armchair, snapped on the floor lamp next to him, and opened a leather-bound book. J.M. Barrie’s ’Peter Pan’, the story of a magical world in which children never grow up, might have been written for kids, but it was Calvin’s favourite literary indulgence.

The manor creaked and moaned as it settled in for the evening. Calvin didn’t flinch when the faint pop-and-slide of an opening window issued from a nearby room. “All alone in an old house once more,” he mumbled, “like so many nights before.” He assembled a sardine on a cracker and took a thoughtful bite. “But not,” he added, “for very much longer.”

Calvin took a sip of his tea and picked up his book. He let one hand dangle over the arm of his chair as he read about a strange shadow in the Darlings’ London home. It took several moments before he realised that a soft furriness grazed against his fingertips. “Huh?” he muttered. “A cat? I don’t have a cat.”

He looked down at the floor and his eyes widened. Glossy black fur, long white stripes, thick bushy tail—
skunk!
Calvin scrambled over the opposite arm of the chair and lurched towards the door. The animal walked towards him slowly, making bird-like squeaks, and waved its tail.

“Sh-sh-sh-shhh,” Calvin whispered. “Good little skunkie! Everything’s just fine.” The skunk trotted towards him. Calvin made his way to the back door, keeping one eye out for furniture impediments and one eye fixed on the creature before him. He reached the back door and paused with one hand on the knob. The skunk turned its rump towards him and gracefully raised its back legs.

Calvin’s scream filled the empty house and spilled over into the neglected lawn. He fell through the back door onto his ass and crab-walked away from the house in terror. The skunk followed him out of the door and chased him across the lawn.

Calvin was running backwards for dear life when he tripped over a prone body and fell to the ground.

“Now just look at what you’ve done!” a woman shrieked. “Are you trying to kill this poor man?” Beside the woman, a yellow Lab whimpered.

“The skunk! There’s a skunk!” Calvin protested. He held a shaking hand up and pointed back towards the manor. A black and white tuxedo cat sat where he’d indicated. It lifted one paw and licked it with a casual air.

“Don’t get out much, do you?” the woman snorted. “Where I’m from, we call that a cat.”

Calvin shook his head in bafflement.

“Anyhoodle, I’m Margie McCrory, and this is my associate, David Donaldson.” The woman held out one hand and Calvin shook it in a daze. Her eyes were magnified behind coke-bottle glasses and her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled into a face-stretching bun. “David twisted his ankle in the woods back there”—she indicated Prescott Woods with a jerk of her chin—“and I’m afraid he’s going to need some medical attention. I hope you’ve got good insurance.” She snorted.

“Excuse me, but I’m Calvin Prescott, and this is my property. The woods and the manor are clearly marked ‘No Trespassing.’ Please explain your presence here before I call the police.” Calvin stood and brushed off his threadbare shirt.

“Well, Mr Prescott, you should know us, then.” Margie chortled. “We work for the Morgan Group. They hired us to do a geological survey of the woods before the purchase is finalised.”

“Ah,” Calvin said. “It was my understanding that the inspection process was complete. There was an inspection done last month, was there not?”

“Well, yes,” Margie agreed, “and that’s why we’re here. Turns out the inspection raised some red flags upon further, ah, inspection. The Morgan Group wanted us to dig a little deeper.”

Sprawled on the dry grass before them, David Donaldson groaned in pain. “My ankle…” he complained. David’s face was deeply lined and speckled with brown age-spots. He raised one sinewy hand to his sparse ash-grey hair.

“Poor David.” Margie shook her head. “We were checking out some of your sinkholes and his foot fell right through. I had a devil of a time pulling him free and out here to your lawn. It appears to be broken. Frankly, I’m astonished that you attempted to have this land developed, Mr Prescott, what with the sinkholes.”

“What?” Calvin sputtered.

“Don’t forget the grey bat,” David moaned.

“And the grey bat. It’s endangered, of course, and Prescott Woods is one of its few remaining habitats.

“Grey bat?” Calvin shot back. “How on earth am I supposed to know about the grey bat?”

The cat hissed at Calvin and began to groom its back with long licks.

Margie cleared her throat and withdrew a binder from her backpack. “I see here, Mr Prescott, that you vouched that you had no knowledge of any land malformations in your woods that would hinder development. You stated that you had perused the entirety of the woods during your teenage years and that it was stable and pristine. ‘Ideal for a housing development,’ you said here.” Margie thrust a paper at him and pointed to his signature. “Mr Prescott, the sinkholes in the woods are hundreds of years old. The land surface of the woods is a thin crust atop a network of limestone caves. Had you, in fact, perused these woods in their entirety, you would have learnt that fact rather quickly.”

“I have no recollection of signing that document,” Calvin argued, “and I’ve never seen or heard of any sinkholes. I’m going to call Marvin Morgan right now to get to the bottom of this. He should have let me know you were coming to inspect.” Calvin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“What about the grey bat?” insisted David. “You can’t just wipe out the grey bat, Mr Prescott! It’s endangered!”

Calvin jabbed his finger alternately at David and Margie. “I don’t give two shits about the grey bat,” he fumed. “As far as I’m concerned, there could be unicorns and albino flying monkeys in those woods. I’m selling it and packing my bags. I’m tired of living in this rickety old place by myself, and I’m sick of seclusion for the sake of some old family custom. If you’re genuinely from the Morgan Group, then submit your findings. Otherwise, get off of my property before the cops arrive. Forget Marvin Morgan—I’m calling the police immediately.”

The cat paused its bathing with one hind foot in the air and yowled.

Calvin began to march back to Prescott Manor. “Mr Prescott, houses built in the woods will crumble and people will be hurt, and it’ll all come back to haunt you!” Margie shouted after him. “You’re going to regret this!”

Without turning, Calvin waved them away with one hand and kept walking. Margie’s and David’s visages were replaced by those of Carmen and Brock. “What the hell are we going to do?” Carmen whispered.

“Cal, baby, is that you?” a sweet female voice called.

Calvin turned on his heel at once and his jaw dropped when she saw Paloma emerge from the woods. Instead of her homespun linen dress, however, she wore a fringed avocado-green miniskirt and a long-sleeved pink blouse knotted over her navel. Paloma’s fiery red curls framed her delicate face in a wild halo.

Calvin paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Paloma? Can it be?” He took a step towards her. “It’s been, what, over thirty years! You haven’t changed a bit,” he marvelled. “How I’ve missed you, Paloma!”

“You sent me away, remember?” Paloma snapped. “After I told you I loved you, and you swore that you loved me, you told me to leave you alone. You said that your parents forbade you to see me anymore, and that they were sending you off to boarding school and then to college.”

“But I came back and searched for you!” Calvin replied. “They were so adamant that I stay away from the woods, and so I did while they were alive. My mother was so sick, you know. Mother said it would break her heart if I ever set foot in that terrible place, and that there were horrible creatures within. Father let her have her say, although he told me I must always protect Prescott Woods.”

“And a fine job you’ve done of that,” interjected Brock. “Since when is selling a place equal to protecting it?”

“I make my own choices.” Calvin jutted his jaw. “I refuse to be a prisoner in this decrepit house any longer. It’s not fair.” He scowled at Brock and Carmen. “Who are you people, anyway? What happened to the guy with the hurt ankle and the woman with the thick glasses?”

“Not fair?” a deep voice bellowed. Gavin strode from the woods and crossed his beefy arms over his chest. “Am I right in hearing you complain about the unfairness of this situation?” he thundered.

“Oh, shit, here we go,” Carmen fretted.

“I am Gavin Rossi and all you see is mine. Your great-great-great-grandfather, Mack Prescott, owned a two-bit inn in a squalid village named Charade,” Gavin growled. “I made a deal with him two hundred years ago. I would have this house”—he waved a meaty hand towards Prescott Manor—“built for him on the sole condition that he and his descendants would forever protect the adjoining woods and keep all intruders away.” Gavin took three menacing steps towards Calvin, who swallowed noisily. “Your family was gifted with the finest home any mortals own in five states on one simple condition,” he bellowed, “and you dare speak to me of unfair!”

Calvin raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Look, sir,” he said. “My father did tell me to protect the woods, but he didn’t tell me anything about an ancient family obligation to do so. And my mother,” he continued, “was afraid of the place. I think she’d have left given any opportunity, but she didn’t want to leave my father and me.” He turned to Paloma. “I searched for you after Mother died and Father was killed in the car accident,” he said. “I walked through the woods calling for you, but you never answered. Every time I entered, I barely escaped with my life. I was chased by a bear and hounded by a hawk. I even fell into a nest of rattlesnakes. Once a badger that must have been rabid ran after me.” He shuddered. “After weeks of near-death scrapes in the woods with no response from you, I gave up, Paloma. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have listened to my parents when it came to the woods and to us. I should have trusted myself and trusted you.”

Gavin turned his massive head to Paloma. “And you have something to answer for as well, daughter,” he said in a quiet voice. “You pledged your love to a mortal? I have permitted casual dalliances for you children, but they are not to go beyond that, for your own safety.”

Paloma raised her chin. “I did, Father, it’s true,” she admitted. “But only that once. I learnt then that people outside our family cannot be believed.” She glared at Calvin.

The sounds of Korbin’s and Lowell’s footsteps preceded them as they joined the group.

Gavin raised one hand for silence. “Calvin Prescott, perhaps I can shed light on a few things. I’ve walked this earth for two centuries, but I confess that I am at times a foolish man. Your mother was a beautiful and sweet woman. When your father brought her to Prescott Manor, she was just nineteen years old. She would walk in the back garden and even explore the woods a bit. She was an avid birdwatcher”—he chuckled—“and so I would cast a glamour so as to appear to be a rare bird of some sort or other. I lured her into the woods just so I could be near her. She brought me happiness I hadn’t felt since my own Maria left us.” His mouth was set in a grim line. “It was wrong of me, I see now, but I thought I could convince her to leave your father and come away with me into the woods. One day I showed my true form to her and revealed some of the magic of Prescott Woods to her. Far from being enchanted, she was terrified. She ran from me and never set foot on the back lawn again. In my humiliation, I forbid all magic folk to come near the manor.”

Calvin whistled. “Well, that explains a lot.”

“In the generations prior to your parents’,” Gavin mused, “there existed a certain symbiosis between Prescott Manor, Prescott Woods, Castle Speranza and the town of Charade. We of the woods knew the mortals of Prescott Manor, and we enlisted the aid of the magic folk in the manor’s upkeep. Prescott Manor was not locked and guarded. Only the woods were off-limits to mortals. Townsfolk came to festivals and banquets at the Manor. It was the social centre of Charade. We of the woods traded our own elf-wrought goods with your store-bought clothes and foods.”

“And chicken eggs,” Paloma added.

“It seems to me that there exists an advantage in cooperation between those who abide in Prescott Woods, Prescott Manor, Castle Speranza and Charade. Would you agree, Calvin Prescott?”