Crane (21 page)

“So, the question you’re asking is why?”

“Do
not
be glib!” Rip hissed through his stained teeth, stabbing a finger in her direction.

Ireland felt her nostrils flare
and took a breath to claim control over her raging emotions.

“Because,” she explained
in the calmest tone she could muster, “Noah is her cousin, and he’s a Van Tassel. I’m guessing she’s got a blood tie to Katrina in her somewhere, too. Going by what Eleanora said, we’re dealing with a residual haunt. I’ve watched enough ghost hunting shows to know that. If Katrina
did
hitch a ride inside Amber, then it’s up to us to keep her safe from whatever is after her.”

Rip’s gaunt shoulders sagged with sadness
. Compassion softened the stern lines of his face. “Not whatever, Ireland.
You
. The thing hunting her this night will be
you
. Hence you inviting her to
your
house to socialize with
you
being the worst of possible ideas.”

Ireland let those words hang heavy in the air for a moment
, batting them around in her mind before she strode straight for the fridge. Rising up on tiptoe, she dug a bottle of coconut flavored rum out of the cupboard above it. Tonight, unscrewing the top from the bottle would suffice as her mixer.

“Did your plan extend any farther than luring that poor girl to what could be her eminent doom?”

She slammed the bottle back, chugging a healthy swig before wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “There was no plan! I have no idea what I’m doing! All I know is that some time tonight the Horseman
will
ride. I can already …
feel
him, slithering around inside of me. Everybody has a part to play in this, and I was cast as the villain. It’s who I am now because I-I don’t know how to stop it!”

Rip took a cautious step closer, his hand raised as if to comfort her. Ireland shot him a warning glare that such an act would
not
be well received. “Eleanora advised you of what must be done. Shoulder the cloak, remember?”

“And willingly become a monster?
What if this is a self-fulfilling prophecy? I do this and become the—
thing
that hunts and kills you all?” Tears welled behind her eyes. The hard blinks she attempted did nothing to prevent them from sliding down her cheeks unchecked. “I …
can’t
.”

“You
will
become the Horseman tonight, Ireland. You’re right about that.” Rip’s hands curled like he wanted to grab her and shake her—a move that could prove deadly in her vulnerable state. “Do it under your own terms and you might just be able to control it.”

“
Might
,” Ireland pointedly emphasized that crucial word. “Or, I
might
slaughter an entire town.”

Rip spun on his heel, the palm of his hand connecting with the countertop in a loud crack. “
There
is
no other way
!”

“
There has to be
!” The intensity of Ireland’s resolve easily matched his.

“I-is everything okay in there?” Amber called.

“Fine.” Rip spun back toward her, the look on his face making it clear it was anything
but
. “You think on that, then. Ponder how best to avoid killing the lovely young lady in the next room. I’m going to go keep her company with a board game.” He closed the distance between them with one wide step, his determined glare locking with hers and holding firm. “However, you need to realize one crucial detail. If you make
one
move to hurt her,
I will stop you myself
.”

Without
glancing back, he stormed from the room.

Ireland stared out the kitchen window, admiring the skyline painted with twilight’s violet pallet
.

“No, you won’t,” she murmured
sadly and tipped the bottle to her lips once more.

The sun relent
ed, giving its final bow while gesturing forth the threat of night that galloped in with unspeakable intent. Ireland slammed back another tangy gulp of rum, her skin suddenly humming. She tried to reassure herself that the rum was to blame, not some dark and sinister atrocity within her that was anxiously scratching and clawing its way to the surface. Unfortunately, she wasn’t drunk enough to buy that line of logic … yet.

For a minute
, she batted around the idea of grabbing her keys and bolting for the door; slamming the accelerator to the floor and not letting up until she crossed at least two state lines.

What was that saying?
she asked herself.
Run like the devil himself was chasing me?

Only in this case he would be riding shotgun
. Any place she went, any cute little burg that caught her fancy, would have the fury of the Hessian unleashed on them. No one was safe anywhere near her. Unless … there actually was a glimmer of fact in Eleanora’s instructions.

This reverie into life and death was set against the oddly mundane soundtrack of casual banter from the next room.
A none too subtle reminder that even as everything crumbled around her, the world spun on.

“How is this played?” Rip was considerate enough to force polite interest despite
the growing tension in the house.

“
You’ve never played
?” Amber gasped. “How is that possible?”

Become the monster—without losing
myself in it. Was such a thing possible?
Ireland pondered.

“Games in my day involved kicking cans or dropping
handkerchiefs.”

“Oh, stop!”
the adorkable secretary laughed. “You’re not that old!”

I
’ve never considered myself a person of strong institution. After all, it only took a handsome face and sexy swagger from Brantley to alter the entire path I’d laid out for my future. That being the case, could I really call forth energy of that magnitude and somehow manage to hold it at bay?

“Huh,” Rip huffed, clearly impressed. “I didn’t
expect you to get those references at all. It seems you’re far more than a pretty face.”

Ireland’s head snapped
to the side, one eyebrow hitched.
Is Rip making a play for Amber? Everything that’s going on and his decrepit ass is trying to hook up?

She
had
to have heard wrong, because it
really
sounded like Amber encouraged him with a coy giggle. “Well, a game of pure trivia
is
my favorite for a reason.”

“By all means,
m’lady,” Rip practically purred.

Ireland stifled her threatening dry heave with a tip of the bottle. She was not nearly drunk enough for this kind of crap.

“Share your pleasure by teaching me how to play. Help grow my …
mind
.”

It was a good thing she didn’t know where the Horseman’s sword was. She would’ve run herself through right then and there.

“I would love to,” Amber agreed with an audible smile. “It’s fairly simple. You roll your dice and move clockwise that number of spaces. Whatever color you land on you have to answer a question for the category. If you answer right, you get to go again. Here, I’ll go first and show you.”

Ireland tipped her head back against the fridge door, reveling in the
cool relief it offered her feverish skin. She heard the dice thunk against the board and Amber click her piece the necessary number of spaces.

“Yellow, history! That’s a favorite of mine! Now take one of the cards from the box and ask me the yellow question.”

Rip cleared his throat as he slid the card from the box. “What did Walter Raleigh’s wife carry in her purse for twenty-nine years after his execution?”

“I remember this only because I found it insanely icky
… his head.”

A pause as Rip checked the answer.
“How disturbingly grotesque, yet oddly fitting.”

“What?”

“Nothing, my dear. You go again.”

Ireland rolled the bottle of rum over her forehead, hoping for cooling relief but finding none there
.

More incessant clicking.
“Entertainment.”

Was it anxiety causing Ireland’s heart to hammer in
her chest or something far more ominous? If she wasn’t going to follow Eleanora’s advice, she was going to need to find a way to lock herself up—and soon.

“Who was the first non-human to win an Academy Award?”

Fingernails drummed against the coffee table, somehow managing to keep time with the pulsating in Ireland’s temples. “Hmm, I suspect that Mr. Disney was behind whoever it was. I know
Snow White
was his first full-length feature, but … I’m going to go with the mouse that started it all, Mickey.”

“You got it!”
Rip’s tone bubbled with awe. “How do you know all of these things?”

Moving on legs that wobbled and threatened to buckle beneath her, Ireland crossed to the sink
, and her stomach slammed into the counter as she turned the faucet on full flow. Dipping her head, she sucked water directly from it. Thirst somewhat quenched, she turned her head this way and that, soaking her head in search of even a moment’s relief.

Amber’s voice dropped to a whisper, like she was revealing a glimpse of her soul to what she probably thought was a grungy old hippie.
“I’ve always been a big reader. Only not fiction novels, like most people. Medical journals, non-fiction memoires, law books, more often than not I have my nose buried in a book.”

Ireland turned the water off and
wrung the extra water from her hair.

“I’ve never been more than a casual reader,”
Rip admitted. “The services I—“

“Provided paid only in salves and a burning sensation over the chamber pot
,” Amber boldly finished for him.

“
Wh-where did you get those words?” All amusement and playfulness drained from Rip’s tone, leaving behind a haunted echo.

“I am so sorry! I don’t know what came over me!”
Amber sounded on the verge of tears; her voice rising and falling in an unsteady quake. “I would
never
say such a thing!
Wait
! Where are you going?”

Ireland’s head swiveled as Rip stumbled into the dining room, his pale skin ashen.

“She’s not Katrina,” he mumbled, the whites of his eyes bulging.

“How do you—“

Gradually, his head turned toward her. Terror had slashed its markings deep into the creases of his face. “The day I came to Sleepy Hollow, Irving spoke those very same words to me. No one but he could have possibly known that. We’ve made a horrible miscalculation, Ireland. Wh–where is
our
Katrina?”

Somewhere deep within her the beast chuckled maliciously.

Ireland ran her trembling hands over her face, fighting to think over the warning sirens blaring in her head. “Mason’s wake, it was going to be at the Van Brunt manor. Noah and Ana are there with about half of Tarrytown.”

“Ireland, if the Hessian goes after them there the body count will be higher than you can possibly imagine
! You can’t—“

One finger snapped up to silence him. “Get Amber out of here,
now
!”

The rasp of
Eleanora’s words booming through her mind, Ireland shoved herself from the counter and lurched for the basement stairs.

Break the curse, become the legend
.

27

Ichabod

Ichabod leaned into the stallion’s wide gait, the pair galloping toward the regal Van Brunt estate at breakneck speeds. His leg swung over the stallion’s back before it halted, his boots skidding across the gravel and kicking up a cloud of dust. The moment he secured his footing, he rushed across the grounds. The planks of the porch squeaked their protest under his weight as he bolted toward the front door that hung open like the hungry jaws of a beast.

Families
like the Van Brunt’s prided themselves on maintaining a staff of servants to cater to their every whim. Be that as it may, the house was eerily vacant. No lamps were lit. Not a whisper of sound broke the ominous silence. The muffled clomp of Ichabod’s cautious steps echoed through the foyer like a trumpet blast. His head snapped in one direction then the other as he crept, searching the darkness for a clue to Katrina’s whereabouts. To his right, two rooms away, a soft light beckoned. Moving on the balls of his feet, he slunk through the doorway to the neighboring dining room. One step inside and his heart leapt into his throat. Two men stood statue still on either side of the door wall.

“A thousand apologies—” Ichabod’s hands rose in a gesture of truce
.

The men, dressed in standard servant attire, didn’t move or acknowledge his entry with
so much as a blink. Ichabod slunk closer with caution to inspect the suspiciously tolerant fellow on his right. At first glance he seemed utterly fine—other than the milky white voids where his eyes had been. Ichabod waved his hand in front of the boy’s face, expecting a flinch or a blink. Nothing registered past the haunting fog in his eyes.

“I
am going to take this as an ominously bad sign,” Ichabod muttered before continuing his quest deeper into the bowels of the house.

“
How will the world remember Ichabod Crane?” a feminine voice, with a trace of malice as sharp as a dagger’s edge, asked from somewhere in the darkness. “As a noble man that rushed headlong into danger to save the woman he was never meant to be with? Or, perhaps as the coward that ran to save himself? We shall soon see.”

Long shadows danced across the walls, cast by the small fire crackling and hissing in the sitting room fireplace before him.
Inside the door, just like the last, two servants stood like stationary sentries.

“If I were to place a wager on it,” the
faceless voice continued, “I would guess history will not remember you at all. You will be nothing more than a snagged flaw in the intricate tapestry of life—easily overlooked due to the threads surrounding you that are far more important and impressive with their painstakingly perfect weavings.”

Hi
s only plan, to follow the light, turned out to be a sufficient one. Stepping farther into the room, he spotted Katrina seated in a wingback chair with her hands and feet bound by a thick, braided rope. The golden tresses, which curtained most of her face, parted just enough for him to see the blood trail that zigzagged down her face.                  

His heart lurched in a panicked stutter-beat
. Without hesitation, he sprang to her aid. His goal was extinguished painfully short of completion by the two servants that broke from their stoic stillness to block his passage.

“
You could still make it out of this alive. I suggest you not force my hand.” She emerged from the darkest corner of the room, taking shape as she stepped into the light. Conservative uniform, tight-pulled bun, lines from a none-too gentle-existence already marring her young face; the girl could have been lovely had life showed her a kinder hand.

“Elizabeth?”
Ichabod gasped, his face a question mark.

The Van
Tassel’s house maid pursed her thin lips, her head bobbing in an impressed nod. “You recognize me? There are some I have crossed paths with every day since I was a child that would fail in that same regard. After all, of what consequence am I?”

Ichabod’s gaze flicked over to Katrina
, who had yet to stir. “I am beginning to think quite a large one.”

A smile
, malicious and deadly as the maw of ravenous crocodile, curled across her face. “You
are
a fast learner, Schoolmaster.”           

A
low moan seeped from Katrina’s lips, causing a flood of thanks to overcome Ichabod. He had never been more grateful for anything than to see her head loll to the side, her heavy lids fight to open.

“Oh good, you
are awake,” Elizabeth said with that same hungry grin. “Now the real fun can begin.”

“Elizabeth?” Katrina murmured
, struggling for the awareness that eluded her obviously foggy mind. “You must release me. The Horseman … c-could be here at any moment.”

Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest
, drumming her fingers against them. “Be thankful you are beautiful, because it seems you were not blessed generously with cognitive reasoning.”

Finally,
Katrina’s cornflower blue eyes found their focus in the troubled gaze of the man she had confessed her love to. “Ichabod? What is happening?”

Ichabod
fought to keep his expression neutral, not wanting to panic her further. “I believe we have found the puppet master that has been yanking at the Horseman’s strings.”

“A
second point awarded to the schoolmaster!” Elizabeth laughed and jubilantly clapped her hands. “You really are too clever for our sweet, yet obtuse, Katrina.”

“My father achieved peace with that murderous ghoul!” Katrina
raged, struggling against her restraints. “Why would you risk upsetting that?”

Ichabod didn’t see Elizabeth move,
nonetheless the next instant she stood by Katrina’s side. Pinching Katrina’s chin in her chapped hand, she bore down with a murderous glare. “You think that man such a hero?” Metal hissed from leather, and a pearl handled dagger emerged from the sheath tied around Elizabeth’s waist.

Every fiber of Ichabod’s being tensed. The twitch of his shoulder making that strain visible.

“Every success he ever had in this town was owed to his manipulations of the Hessian. Perhaps it is time you learned the
truth
about your precious father, princess.” Elizabeth rolled the opalescent handle between her fingers, letting the light from the licking flames glisten off the polished blade.

Katrina clamped her lips shut to muffle a whimper that
escaped.

With deliberate nonchalance
, Elizabeth brought the very tip of the dagger to Katrina’s cheek, pressing hard enough to dimple the flesh without piercing it. Ichabod lunged to Katrina’s aid, a protective inferno erupting inside of him potent enough to heat an entire city. All it took was a flicked glance from Elizabeth for her mindless servants to seize his arms and deny him passage. Try as he might, he couldn’t free himself from their herculean holds.

“You were born with the luxury of a pedigree; the golden child of
Baltus and his lovely wife, Mariella Van Tassel.” Elizabeth used more force than necessary to tip Katrina’s head to the side. Leaning in, she whispered against her ear, “Even as the sickness grew within your mother, your father kept the secrets of his betrayal from her. She died never knowing that for years her doting husband had been quenching his most vile of desires in the servants’ quarters with
my mother
.”

Elizabeth applied pressure to the blade, slicing a crimson trail across Katrina’s porcelain cheek. Tears streaked down
Katrina’s face, mingling with the blood and dripping from her chin in diluted droplets. While terror screamed from her stare, all that eeked passed her lips was a muted yelp.

“Katrina!” Ichabod shouted, his heart hammering in the hollow of his chest.

“I was conceived in the shadows, one floor beneath where you slept in your finely-crafted crib, wetting your nappies. In those same shadows is where I learned all I needed to unravel our twisted family …
sister
.”   Elizabeth hissed the last word, a viper releasing her venom. “You were sent away, always shielded from the darkness father dabbled with. I was allowed to linger; an invisible being with no identity worth mention. A ghost before my time. There, I watched … and learned.”

Flipping her wrist, she shifted the blade to Katrina’s other cheek.
Luminescent skin split in a second eruption of red with the drag of her blade.

Ichabod
threw his body forward, yanking for freedom from his captors with every ounce of his strength. “
Leave her be
! Do
not
harm another hair on her head!”

Elizabeth straightened her spine
and cocked her head as though to consider his plea, the dagger dangling from her fingers. “Absolutely. I would have it no other way.”

Her gaze locked with Ichabod’s, a manic
smile spreading across her face as she turned the blade on herself. She drew it down one cheek, then the other, reveling in the slashes like a lover’s seductive caress.

Katrina spun
away from the gruesome spectacle, her eyes squeezed shut. Locks of fair blonde stuck in her wounds, the seeping blood staining them pink.

Gore
streaked Elizabeth’s beaming face like crimson tears. “I
did
have to overcome the obstacle presented by not having the bond with the Horseman that Baltus did. Even that was easily remedied with a little Wiccan education—a fact I’m sure you can appreciate, Schoolmaster. All it took was a sacrifice, a kill for a kill. I offer up a soul to him and he claims a life of my choosing. After which he politely returns to whatever hellish dimension claims him.”

“The maid’s wounds
.” Slowly, Ichabod was putting the pieces together. The familial picture it formed made Greek tragedy seem tame. “The rest were killed with one fatal strike. Her death was brutal. She’d been hacked apart.”

“
She deserved it
!” Elizabeth shrieked, the tendons in her neck bulging. “She was pathetic, waiting her entire life for Baltus! When Mariella died, she expected her day had come. That he would come to her, and the two of them would finally be together.”

Katrina’s angelic face crumbled at the horror of such a
revelation. “She was your …
mother
?”

Elizabeth
spun on her heel to pace the length of the room; this turn of topic setting the off-kilter maid on edge. “
And she deserved to die
! When Baltus took Selena as his second wife, Mother reached the decision that her own daughter would never be restricted by the confines of love as she was. She insisted making my own choices about such matters would only weaken me—make me like
her
. She met with Baltus behind closed doors. There, the two orchestrated an arrangement to marry me off to that idiot stable-boy, Daniel. He was nothing more than a man-child aspiring no farther than raking up manure. Yet, our father was thrilled to hand me off to him just to free himself of the burden and obligation he felt toward me.”

Tears
tinged with blood dotted Katrina’s gown with pink. “That is why you ordered the Horseman to kill Daniel? So the two of you would not be wed?”

“
Do not dare judge me
!” Elizabeth stomped the remaining distance between them to jab the point of her blade against Katrina’s throat. “Men like Brom Van Brunt pant after you, yet you cast them to the wayside! What makes you better than me? The same blood pumps through our veins! Be that as it may,
you
get your pick while
I
get handed off like an old sow!”

“What of the others?” Ichabod interjected
, mostly to divert the blade from Katrina’s flesh. “The Horseman has been called at least thrice. Who else have you sacrificed?”

His mission
proved successful when she pulled back to face him. The tip of her index finger pressed to the point of the dagger as she slowly turned the hilt. “Silly boy, do not you know? Servants are a status symbol in this town. Fortunately for me, no one notices if a few go missing.”

A glimmer of something
sinister flashed across her face as she walked toward him. Desire? Amusement? Savagery? It was gone before he could adhere a label to it.