Crane (17 page)

19

Ichabod

“Tonight was meant to be the Harvest Ball,” Katrina said as she slid between the folds of her crimson and taupe gown. “Now the town is meeting, trying to concoct a plan to stop a being that death itself couldn’t tame.”

Ichabod sat on the edge of the bed with his back, respectfully, to Katrina
while she changed. His loaded musket lay across his lap. In the reflection of the window in front of him he could see the soft curve of her hips as they tapered into her narrow waist. He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze to the floor. His chin tipped to the side, ever so slightly, to ask, “Are you secure in our plan?”

“I am to attend the summit on the arm of
Brom Van Brunt,” she reaffirmed as she pulled her long, blonde locks out from the back of her gown and began tightening the laces of her bodice. “Then speak with as many people as I can, searching for anyone that may have motives leading to the Horseman.”

Ichabod nodded
. Mostly to himself, he muttered the remaining details they were depending upon, “Rip will be inside as well. That man can finesse a crowd with a skill that truly baffles. If there are secrets to be found, he will uncover them. Irv will be outside with me, primarily because the Horseman isn’t the only one in this town that would like to see
his
head on a spike. We will be on horseback, patrolling the grounds with a few other men that have volunteered. You will have nothing to fear.”

Her elegant gown in place,
Katrina turned to Ichabod wearing an expression equal parts timidity and fear. “What of Brom?”

The bed squeaked as Ichabod shifted his weight to face her. “Boorish as his ways may be, he cares for you. If you adopt the guise that you
have interest in him, he will do all he can to protect you inside the gathering, while I provide you the same service outside.”

“And
,” her long lashes brushed the tops of her cheeks as she cast her gaze to the floor, “you aren’t bothered by me being on his arm?”

In the midst of the plotting and planning,
Ichabod had slipped into the role he knew well of military strategist. He had detached himself from the emotional aspects—until that very moment. The reality of his request sank in like a heavy stone. He had asked her to take another man’s arm, asserting her place beside
him
. The implications of that dug into his gut like a dull blade, churning and twisting deep.

“The
mere idea of that makes me ache,” he stated, forcing the words through his suddenly parched throat. “Yet I would endure this hardship, and countless others, to keep you safe.”

She moistened her lips with
a flick of her tongue, seemingly wrestling with words that gave her pause. “Ichabod, when this is over … w-would you call yourself mine?”

Ichabod closed his eyes
. The euphoria of that question washed over him, cleansing him of all his sins with the promise of tomorrow. Rising to his feet, he took her velvet soft hand in his. A love he hadn’t known possible illuminated her striking face. “From the moment I saw you, my heart belonged to you alone. If by some miracle you were to give me your love in return, I would need nothing else to sustain me the rest of my days.”

Katrina’s palm tenderly brushed his cheek.
“You have already claimed that.”

Allowing
no further hesitation, Ichabod gathered her in his arms. Katrina tipped her head back, the soft curves of her body molding to his. Full lips parted in an alluring invitation it would take a stronger man than him to resist.  

With his lips still tingling from the memory of her kiss, Ichabod watched Katrina leave
the inn with Brom. She had met him on the front stoop, forcing a desolate smile while Brom did his duty by offering his condolences. After which, the sizeable man pulled her to him in an embrace meant to comfort. Ichabod bristled, his shaky breath only easing when Katrina quickly extracted herself from Brom’s smothering hold.

She wouldn’t succumb to
Brom’s charms. After everything they’d been through, he felt confident in that. While the constable and his men cleared away the grisly scenes Katrina and he had happened upon, they couldn’t erase the scars left on her tender heart. It had been Ichabod that calmed her after they discovered young Daniel’s jarring corpse. It had been
his
arms that held her as she quaked with agonizing sobs after learning of her father’s death. Brom claimed he wanted to marry Katrina, yet this was the first time he had reached out to her since her loss. Ichabod had to guess that his true motivation for escorting her that evening was just another part of his plan to assert them as a couple within the community. Brom’s private agenda trumped matters of the heart once more. The ramifications of this ruse were settling in Ichabod’s gut like having ingested rotted meat, causing acidic bile to churn and rise with a painful sting at the back of his throat.

“Have you noticed all the bearded men here in the Hollow?” Rip mused as he sauntered into the
gathering room. “That look is really quite distinguished. I’m thinking of growing one.”

Ichabod couldn’t be bothered to respond as he watched Katrina hook arms with
Brom and begin their stroll across town.

“
What are we looking at?” Rip joined Ichabod at the window, then clamped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Ah, I see. Rest assured, I shall keep a close eye on her for you. I’ll even intervene if I see the oaf’s sweaty mits lingering.”

Ichabod cast a cursory glance at his
overly-candid friend and shook his head. “Not a penny to your name, yet somehow you have managed to acquire a dapper new wardrobe. Should I bother to ask how?”

Rip st
raightened his posture, adjusting the ruffled cuffs that poked from the ends of his burnished brown coat. “Feel free to ask, my prowess is a matter of pride for me.”

“I fear that same ‘prowess’ may get us chased from town.”

Rip’s noncommittal shrug was all but canceled out by his ‘cat that ate the canary’ grin.

With a shake of his head and a huff of much needed laughter,
Ichabod retrieved his musket from where it leaned against the wall. “Head to the church and stay alert. I’m off to find Irv and begin our patrol. Tonight, we end this Horseman’s reign of terror.”

20

Ireland

“Thank the heavens you’ve returned!” Rip seized Ireland in an awkward bear hug, made all the more unpleasant by his filthy clothes, which smelled like the underside of a rhino. She
had
to find him something else to wear. “There was blood all over the kitchen and you were gone! I was sure you were dead!”

“And that my reanimated corpse rose to wreak havoc through the town?” Ireland pried herself from his
bony clutches. “This isn’t a show on AMC.”

Rip tipped his
head, his expression blank. “I don’t understand that reference.”

“Let me summarize it by saying
, I’m fine.” Ireland ducked around him, strolling into the kitchen to drop her purse and keys on the counter. “And, after repeated, incredibly painful experiments, I can say with absolute certainty that the tattoo won’t let me get rid of it. For reasons I can’t fathom or explain that thing has self-preservation down pat.”

“Tell me more about the person that applied that ink
.” Rip’s fuzzy brows drew in tight as he stroked the length of his beard. “They had to have enchanted the mark somehow.”

“He was a regular dude
.” Ireland shrugged, rubbing the tape around her bandages that had begun to itch. “Bald head, lots of ink, used cuss words as a form of punctuation. I really doubt he was behind this. If there’s a type for that kind of thing, he isn’t it. Whoever it was, the bigger question is why would they want to? What possible reason could they have for letting this …
thing
… loose?”

“To turn the H
orseman—you, as it were—into a rogue killer that can’t be controlled or stopped.” Rip twisted the very end of his beard around his index finger. “Not that I have the foggiest idea why that would be anyone’s goal.”

“Because they’re a dick?” Ireland offered.

“A what now?”

“Dick?” Not only was her comment significantly less funny when she had to explain it, but
doing so crossed the line into downright uncomfortable. “A … uh …penile phallic symbol.”

“Oh
.” The rises of Rip’s cheeks, not covered by wiry beard, bloomed with color. “
Oh, my
.”

“It’s a figure of speech
… that I won’t be using again thanks to this moment of abject mortification.” Ireland shoved her hair behind her ear just to have something to do with her hands. “Can we move past this and never speak of it again?”

“Yes, let’s.” Rip feverishly nodded.

Ireland took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting out the back slider. She’d been at the hospital longer than she thought. Late afternoon shadows stretched across the yard. “We need to come up with a plan before that sun sets and I go for another ride. It’s doubtful the next person will get off as easy as Brantley did.”

Rip’s upper body
pivoted in her direction, his hands folded in a posture that hinted at his Old English roots. “What did you have in mind?”

Ireland flopped down on a bar stool and let her head thump against the countertop. “Not killing anyone tonight was pretty much the end of my plan
.”

Rip rocked from his toes to his heels and back again, his fingers
steepled beneath his chin. “I have an idea, however it
will
require further research. Is there a library in town?”

Ireland didn’t bother to raise her head
. Laminate countertop muffled her voice. “Unless you’re planning to stock pile them and whip ’em at me when I go all crazy dark side, I don’t think books are the answer.”

Lost in his own thoughts, Rip paced the length of the kitchen. “There was a woman from my time, if I could pinpoint her whereabouts or th
at of her living relatives—”

Ireland raised her head enough to rest her chin on her hands. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but your situation is actually somewhat rare. About ninety-nine, point nine-five percent
of the people from your time have been reduced to
dust
.”

“No, she wouldn’t be living
. Even so, the information is still there, within the tissue, it would just be a matter of extracting—”

“Stop!” Ireland bolted upright, her palms
extended to halt him. “We don’t have time for experiments of the boogidy-boogidy kind! I have a clock tick-tick-ticking away over my head, counting down the few short hours until this
thing
inside me takes over. What we need to do now-ish, if not sooner, is to figure out how to contain it—or more to the point,
me
.”

“What I have in mind
will
work, I just need you to show the smallest iota of patience.”

“Patience?” Ireland erupted with
a sharp, abrasive laugh that bordered on manic. “I’m sorry, how many innocent people have
you
killed lately?”

“N
-none, of course,” Rip stammered.

“That’s right,
none
!” Her anger quickly dissolved into a truer emotion that far eclipsed it, guilt ridden sorrow. It took two hard swallows for her to choke down the lump of emotion that lodged in her throat. “That blood is on
my
hands, so you don’t really get to weigh-in on my emotional breakdowns, okay? You want to go hunt for some long-dead chick? That’s fine. Just … help me figure out how to lock myself up before you go?
Please
?”

Rip
’s face crumbled in a blend of grief and compassion. He paused his pacing at the counter beside her, draping a comforting hand over hers. “Come with me to research this. I
promise
we will be back long before nightfall. Plenty of time to lock you up, only by then we will have the information that will make the need for such things unnecessary. You’ll see.”

An idea sparked
, brightening Ireland’s molasses eyes. “What about the talisman? The original one! Maybe if I wore it—”

Rip
interrupted with an adamant shake of his head. “No. We don’t know the effect wearing both talismans will have. It’s far too risky.”

“How is it risky?” Ireland
’s hands clenched into tight fists of frustration. “They’re both meant to control the Horseman. So, what? I’d have too much control? I’m totally okay with that! I’ll get a label maker and embrace the newfound OCD.”

“For all we know the two talismans could cancel each other out. I’m afraid I can’t allow this.” Rip’s
hand hovered over the hem of his left coat pocket, protecting the treasure she longed for. “The Horseman—or
you
rather—had been storing your weapons downstairs in a hidden compartment at the bottom of the trunk. I took it upon myself to hide them, quite well I might add. Even if the darkness does claim you, you will not have the weaponry needed to harm anyone. So, you see, precautions have been taken. We are free to go.”

“You know what?
After everything—
ahem
, excuse me—that you’ve done for me, you have most definitely—” Her words cut off as a barking cough tore from Ireland’s throat. “Excuse me, I think there’s something lodged in my throat. Anyway, you have definitely earned my trust. If that is—
ahem
—what you think is best, then that is what we’ll do.”

Her declaration was punctuated by a
nother coughing fit that violently shook through her lean frame.

“Are you okay?” Rip
frowned. “Do you need a drink of water?”

Ireland had to clear her throat twice before she could gasp out
a breathless answer. “Yes, please. Not sure what’s happening.”

“Your body is probably weakened from the lack of sleep
due to your nightly outings.” Rip opened a couple of cupboards before locating the glasses. He positioned one under the tap to fill it for her.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.” Ireland
rolled her jaw, which drooped slightly to the right. “It’s so weird. Feels like I’ve had dental work done.”

“That does
not
sound like a lack of sleep.” Rip handed her the cup, his gaze searching her face.

“Thank you,” Ireland murmured
, raising the glass to her mouth. Water trickled from her sagging lips and splashed to the ground, soaking the front of her shirt in the process. Her eyes widened in panicked Os. “Wha dah heck? Rip! I can’h feel mah face! Wha’s happenin’?”

“I … I don’t know!”
His entire body tensed, his limbs rigid as he struggled with the decision to help her or run screaming from the house.

The cup slipped from Ireland’s fingers and crashed to the floor
, water exploding everywhere. “Oh, Gawd! I fink ih’s happenin’! I’m urning inwho dah howseman!” With frantic hands, Ireland slapped at her face and head. “I can’h feel mah head! Run, Rip!
Run
!”

Rip’s frantic stare darted from Ireland to the door. He managed one step toward his escape before his eyes rolled back and he folded to the ground in a snoring heap.

Ireland wiped her chin with the back of her arm before leaning over her dozing friend to dig the talisman from his pocket. “I should probably feel bad for exploiting what is an
incredibly
unfortunate malady for you.” She weighed the silver talisman on her fingertips, its thick chain dangling from her palm. “But that was just too darned easy.”

Ireland patted his shoulder before rising to her feet with her prize in tow.

Not knowing how long Rip would be out, she took the talisman into her bedroom and locked the door behind her. As soon as the lock clicked into place, she wasted no time. Ducking her head, she looped the chain around her neck.

It started with a spark
of heat. A warmth radiating from where the talisman rested against her skin. Quickly, it spread, casting tendrils of sizzling euphoria coursing through her veins. She raised one hand in front of her face and wiggled her fingers. An impromptu giggle bubbled up from her throat. She looked the same, yet beneath the surface everything felt different.

Stumbling over her feet, and find
ing that uproariously funny, Ireland moved through a cloud of happy to her closet. She hooked her hands in the hem of her T-shirt and yanked the damp garment over her head, dropping it unceremoniously to the floor. Humming a song she didn’t even recognize, Ireland pushed her boring, regular ole clothes across the hanging bar in her search for one
particular
item. She found it way in the back, with the clothes she kept but never actually wore—until now. She hadn’t slid on the fake leather vest since Halloween a few years back when she went as a biker chick. Nonetheless, shrugging it up her arms and coaxing the zipper up just enough to flaunt a generous amount of cleavage, she found it fit her mood perfectly.

Pausin
g in front of the mirror that hung over her dresser, Ireland applied a liberal coat of ruby red lipstick. Then, tousled her hair into a punky disarray and sprayed it in place. Shooting a playful wink to her reflection, she threw open the door and sashayed out—shoulders back, head held high. Snagging her purse from the counter, she stepped over Rip to strut right out the door.

Still humming
that same strange little tune, Ireland bypassed her car and crossed straight into Noah’s yard. She rapped softly on the door, growing more …
anxious
with each passing second. Her hand slid up the doorframe, until reaching the level where she could curl it behind her head and lean against her elbow.

The door cracked open. Noah peered out clad only in a pair of wel
l-worn jeans and an unbuttoned shirt. Ireland’s appreciative gaze lazily devoured his sculpted abs.

“Ireland?” Noah asked, visibl
y jolted by her appearance. “Is everything okay? What happened to your arm?”

“Everything is better than okay,”
she purred, taking a brazen step forward to loop her finger in the waistband of his jeans. “Remember those vices you mentioned?”

“Yeah?” He flinch
ed back at the forward nature of her touch.