Crane (20 page)

Da-dun, da-dun, da-dun
.

Sweat soaked her palm
, which clung tight to the doorknob.

“
Rip,” she gasped, forcing the words through laboring lungs. It took all of her concentration and every ounce of willpower she had to keep her feet planted
exactly
where they were. If she let them move an inch—creep forward even a step—it would all be over in the bloodiest possible way. “You see that end urn? The big one?”

Rip, seemingly oblivious to her plight, barely glanced at it. “Yes. Why?”

Her nostrils flared. Her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. “Because I’m going to need you to pick it up and smash it over my head.”

Da-dun, da-dun, da-dun.

“Why would I—” Glancing over his shoulder, the light hearted chuckle died on his lips. “Ireland? What’s happening, child?”

“I can’t control it.”
Focusing on her breathing did little to distract from her scorching skin, which yearned to be sated. “There’s something about this place. Please. Don’t question it, and don’t hesitate. I
think
I can hold him back, but you have to hurry. Do it.
Do it now
!”

Rip shook his head
. Slowly at first, but quickly gaining speed and conviction. “No, I—I can’t. Why would you ask me to do such a thing?”

Da-dun, da-dun, da-dun
!

“Because
all I wanna do right now is tear your head off and bathe in your blood!” Ireland snarled. She rotated her upper body just enough for her other hand to squeeze around the iron knob, in hopes of buying herself even a moment longer. “Don’t make me live with the guilt of that, Rip!
Knock me out
!”

Rip’s
vibrating hands closed around the urn. As he padded toward her, with visible unease in each step, Ireland turned her face to the door and held it there. Not in fear of the pain to come, but because each centimeter closer he edged threatened her quickly slipping control.

T-shirt sleeves fell back, revealing even more
of his pasty white skin. Rip arched the urn up over his head—and paused.

A red haze seeped in around the edges of her vision
, its wisps licking, swirling, and dancing before her steadfast glare.

“
Rip, do it
!” A tremor, more demonic than human, tore from her tightening throat.

The last gap in th
at curtain of red knit itself together, extinguishing what remained of her restraint.

“I am so very sorry.”
Rip cringed, bringing the urn down hard … just as her hands slipped free from the door.

2
5

Ireland

The scent of sandalwood and jasmine woke Ireland from her groggy slumber
, a groan slipping past her lips. Dull, pulsating pain throbbed from the left side of her forehead. Her chin lolled to her chest. Noticing the thick coat of grey dust that covered her, a grimace crinkled her face. That same dust rocketed from her nose with a sudden sneeze. “
Ugh
, I have people dust in my nose.”

“Shall I remind you that the urn was your idea?” Rip
’s elbow rose and fell, blending herbs in a wooden bowl with a matching crusher.

“Would you prefer I had killed you?” Ireland attempted to get to her feet, but
couldn’t seem to get them under her.

“I
’m quite partial to the way it turned out.” Rip banged the crusher against the side of the bowl, knocking the remaining ingredients off of it. “Then again, I’m not the one covered in the charred remains of a human corpse.”

“Not to change the subject
… because really, who
wouldn’t
want to talk about the human remains caught in their teeth?” Ireland ran her tongue over her gritty top teeth and stifled the resulting dry heave. “But why did you tie my hands and feet together?”

Rip struck a match
, lighting one candle, then another, before shaking it out. “For the same reason I put the talisman back around your neck. It seems the Hessian cannot be trusted in this space, and we have important work to do. Fortunately, I had some extra braided twine in my bag.”

“That is fortunate,”
Ireland grumbled. Shifting to her side, she tried to find a position that was even remotely comfortable to sit in. “So, when the Horseman takes over completely, the talisman doesn’t make me panty-twirling crazy? That’s a nice change.”

“
Mm-hmm
,” Rip muttered, not even pretending to listen. He gripped the bowl in one hand while the other creaked open the lid of the coffin positioned across the room from where Ireland sat.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Ireland sat up a little straighter and craned her neck to see.
“What does she look like? Is she super nasty?”

Rip
tilted his head to consider the coffin’s inhabitant. “Oddly enough, she looks strikingly similar to how I remember her.”

“That’s harsh.”

In place of a response, Rip dipped two fingers into the bowl’s concoction. His hand, sure and steady, reached in to mark the corpse. Taking a beat to wipe the remnants off his pants—
her
pants, actually—before bowing his head to mumble an inaudible chant.

“What’s happening? Is it working?”

Narrow shoulders sagged in annoyance. Rip turned his head just enough to shoot her a sideways glare.

“Easy to be snippy when you’re not the one tied up in the corner
,” Ireland grumbled and slouched against the wall, the cold stone wall scratching the back of her arms. “I’d pantomime zipping my lips closed, but I’m not bendy enough to do that with my toes.”

Rip
’s chest swelled in a deep breath meant to squash his annoyance before he resumed his chant.

Ireland sat
. Watching. Waiting. Wishing for a better seat for the show. Her mouth opened to request a progress report when a deep, ghastly moan cut her off.

“It worked!” Rip’s
yellow-rimmed eyes widened with an excitement. “Eleanora, you have crucial information that we need—”

A reverberating
rasp—the very voice of death—resonated from the open coffin.

“
’Fore the Horseman steps foot in this place,

The veil shall weaken to show his true face.
”

“
What
?” Ireland snapped, recoiling at the memory of her strong desire to tear Rip limb from limb. “
That’s
why I went all
Cuckoo’s Nest
when I walked in here? Someone should really put up a sign.”

Bone
s snapped. Dried tendons crackled. One bone arm rose from within the coffin to point to the wall by the door. Carved in the stone was a replica of the Horseman’s talisman, crossed out with a big X.

“Sure, put it
inside
the door,” she scoffed with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

“
Eleanora,” Rip’s stern tone guided his long dead associate back to his desired conversational path. “My dear friend has been infected with the Horseman—
Ichabod’s
—essence. We need to know how to help her before she can hurt anyone … else.”

Ireland’s jaw swung open. Prickles of icy reality seeping through her veins. “The Horseman … is
Ichabod
? Your friend, that you claimed was the most heroic man you ever knew, is
inside me
? Making me do these horrible things? After …
everything
, you didn’t think to tell me that?”

“What he became does
not
represent who he was,” Rip snapped, the firmness of his tone offering no trace of apology. “The beast took him over. You, of all people, should understand that.”

“We
will
be discussing this further, later on.” She glared daggers into the back of the man she’d come to count on.

“And I shall anxiously count the seconds until then.”

Eleanora’s chilling groan interrupted, eternity’s oblivion blocking her from the rising tension in the room.

“
Four were present at Ichabod’s end,

the
quartet required as he rises again
.”

Ireland’s head snapped toward the coffin, her glower crumbling under
building intrigue. “Four? Just like in my dream! Cryptic limerick be damned, we might be on to something.”

“
Each spirit shall select a host,

chosen
by blood or one they relate to most.

To break the curse and free your friend,

save his returned love ‘fore she meets her end
.”

Rip
winced, rapidly blinking in shock. “Katrina didn’t die. At least not of anything other than old age or extravagant living. Ichabod gave his life for her and she betrayed him by marrying that Neanderthal, Brom. Although, from what I’ve read, guilt shadowed her days. Late in life she insisted people call her Elizabeth. As if a simple name change could somehow undo what had happened.”

“
’Tis not what happened at all
,” the long dead Eleanora croaked.

“
While another did rise, Katrina did fall
.”

Those simple words
acted as the shatterpoint that sent the wall Ireland constructed in her mind crumbling. That one sentence, plucked from her vision, echoed in her head.

Another did rise. Another did rise. Another did rise.

Her bound hands rose to her head, massaging her temples that were suddenly pounding.

“If what you say is true,” Rip
stroked the length of his beard, “we must find the body Katrina inhabits, and … what?”

“
Embrace the legend, shoulder the cloak,

Let the beast within
ye be awoke.

Yet beware, prepare for the flood,

With the power comes lust for blood
.”

Rip’s hands closed around the edge of the coffin, his upper body anxiously leaning in.
“And if we do this, and save Katrina, this will all be over? We will have beaten the Hessian?”

“
Ichabod shall rest and relinquish control,

But for this prize there is a toll
.”

The unearthly tremor f
rom the casket grew weak, losing ground to death’s heavy hand. The ebb and flow of her words peaked at a whisper then faded to the barely audible.

“
The Horseman is unending, his presence … shan’t lessen.

If … you break … the curse, you become … the legend.”

Eleanora’s
waning spirit gave out, leaving Rip and Ireland to stare in stunned silence.

26

Ireland

“You invited
,” Rip gummed at the inside of his mouth, choosing his words carefully, “a
guest
over, and didn’t feel that merited a conversation?”

Amber stood just inside the doorway. Her ever present smile stayed firmly in place
even while confusion creased her forehead.

“Ireland invited me
,” she offered in cheerful explanation.

The sun was sinking low in the sky. The threat it presented caused Ireland’s skin to twitch, a fresh sheen of sweat beading across her brow.

“Oh, are we telling each other things now?”
Her rebuttal sounded harsher than she intended even to
her
ears. Instead of attempting to soften it, she thrust out her chin and pressed on, “Because, I got a different memo.”

A hot rush of red
filled Rip’s cheeks. “You are greatly exaggerating a small oversight in the midst of a much more dire—“

“
Small oversight
?” Ireland’s hands clenched into fists at her sides; her fingernails digging half-moons into her palms. “The guy that’s basically stalking me is a close personal buddy of yours, and you didn’t think that deserved a mention?”

“I brought
Trivial Pursuit
!” Amber injected, shoving forward the box that had been tucked under her arm.

Rip’s hand s
moothed the front of his borrowed T-shirt, like he was forcing his couth into place. “Amber, is it?”

Frizzy curls bobbed around her face
with her exuberant nod.

“Why don’t you set up this game
of yours, while Ireland and I have a quick chat in the kitchen?”

“No problem!” Amber gushed, shrugging her purse strap off her shoulder and letting it flop to the floor. “I’m pink!”

Rip looked from Amber to Ireland and back again. Shaking his head, his lips pressed in a thin line of incomprehension.

“Uh … the game pieces. Pink’s my favorite.” Her eyebrows
rose and her mouth curled to the side, as if she knew she was being awkward and hoped they’d ignore it.

Lucky for h
er, her hosts were distracted enough to disregard the norms of social conduct for the moment.

“Pink it is
,” Rip said with a forced smile. His hand tightened around Ireland’s clammy forearm to drag her toward the kitchen.

“Pardon my uncle,” Ireland called before her head disappeared around the
doorjamb. “He’s at the old and crotchety phase of his senility.”

Rip didn’t release his hold until they’d rounded the breakfast nook into the kitchen. His hand f
alling to his side when he spun on her. “
Why
? Why
her
? Why
now
? In spite of everything!
Why?
”