Crane (26 page)

Noah chewed on her
proclamation, digesting it, as he tapped the heel of one shoe on the toe of its counterpart. “That’s easy to say, and maybe you even believe it. But what kind of assurance does that give me that if I let you leave here tonight any future blood you spill won’t be on
my
hands?”

W
ords and explanation failing her, Ireland spun, taking the two steps back to Regen’s side.

“Ireland, don’t try it
.” Noah took a threatening step forward, his tone taking on an Arctic chill.

Raising one
hand to steady him, Ireland covered the other with the hem of her cloak before she dug into her saddle bag. Plucking the silver chain from the thick-woven fabric with her thumb and index finger, she unbuttoned her cloak and let it fall to her feet. She focused on her breathing—in through her nose, out through her mouth—as she approached Noah with cautious strides. Warm sensation returned to her features. Each beat of her heart rushing the blood through her veins and shaking the Horseman’s pull. By the time she stood face-to-face with Noah, she had reverted to the girl he’d first met that threw her coffee at him.

In the house behind
them she could hear the murmur of voices and shuffling movements. At least now, if anyone peeked outside, her appearance would be less jarring.

She held
the necklace out and waited the beat for him to extend his hand. The metal chain pooled in his palm, followed by a soft
tink
as the clasp thumped against the medallion. “This is the talisman of the Horseman. If I ever lose control, all you have to do is slip it around my neck. If the medallion is touching my skin it
will
shut me down. Consider it your fail safe. One I feel confident handing over to you, because
that
is how sure I am that I can be trusted.”

Ireland turned away, l
eaving Noah staring down at his new token. Regen trotted forward to meet her, just as she bent to retrieve her cloak, and angled his body to offer her the stir-up. Without hesitation she slid her foot in and hoisted herself astride.

Noah
squinted into the moonlight at her silhouette. “And if I don’t believe this? If I think you’re nothing but a cold-blooded killer that belongs behind bars? Then what?” There was no threat in the question, just a genuine inquiry.

“Then, I guess you’re going to have to catch me first.”

A light nudge from her heels was the only cue Regen needed to bolt forward, seeking refuge for them both in the concealing shadows of the night.

33

Ichabod

“That was the last you saw of the Horseman?”

Ch
ina clinked as Irv set his tea cup on its matching saucer. “Far from it.” He dabbed the corners of his mouth with the edge of his napkin, buying himself time to attain the right words. “The best I can deduce, the Horseman needed a specific head to allow his spirit to move on. One belonging to a person that died a hero’s death, as the first Hessian did.”

“One soul put to rest,
while another is forced to wander in its place.” Rip’s bloodshot eyes filled with tears he attempted to sniff away.

“Death walks
, and talks, and occasionally whisks you in a gruesome waltz.” The dark-haired fellow to Rip’s right twitched, his eyes wide and manic.

“
Too true, friend,” Rip agreed, scooting a bit farther from the eccentric stranger.

“We watched Ichabod rise,” Irv rushed the words out as if longing to be free of them
. “His head … gone. The last of his life blood still pulsating from the stump of his neck. He climbed onto the back of the Horseman’s raven-hued steed and the two disappeared into the night.”

“As I suspected
.” Across the table, four figures sat cloaked in plum robes with gold embroidery around their cuffs and hoods. It was the hefty man, directly across from Irv, that steepled his fingers and tipped his concealed head to the colleague to his left. “Were you able to procure the talisman?”

The second man gave a brief nod.
A thin, frail hand rose to deposit a necklace onto the table. It settled with the soft clink of metal on metal.

“
This was formed from metal procured from a gate that protects a synagogue in Jerusalem.” The spokesman for the mysterious band plucked the medallion from the table and turned it over between his thick, swollen fingers. “It was then blessed and enchanted by the purest and most potent monks, mediums, and shaman in the farthest reaches of our world. This talisman
will
control the Hessian. The will of he who possesses it will prevent your friend from rising and claiming lives—“

A slow burn began in Rip,
spreading through him like a rash that reddened his face and coated his skin with a sheen of sweat. “You did not acquire a possession such as that in a day’s time. You have
had
it!
Known
what it could do! You could have stepped in! Could have saved him … could have saved
all
of them!”

The man raised his hand to steady Rip’s rant, his
sleeve sliding further up to reveal two small age spots on the side of his forearm. “I understand your dismay, and you have my deepest of sympathies. However, as regrettable as it is, we could not save Ichabod Crane. The former Horseman’s essence had been submerged in the perils of darkness for far too long. The talisman would not have had the same pull on him. By implementing it now, we can—for lack of a better term—inoculate Ichabod’s spirit before it can be completely corrupted. Yet, our work must not end there. The truth of what happened here must be concealed.”

“
It may be too late for that.” Irv rubbed his chin, his jaw clenched tight. “Rumors have surfaced in the Hollow that the Horseman can be controlled. I have no doubt that some may already be attempting to deduce how.”

“Then we must act quickly!”
The spokesman jolted the room by slapping his palm against the table. His chin jerked toward the soft-spoken man with the bushy mustache drumming his fingers on the edge of the table. “Mr. Hawthorne has connections within the literary community. I propose we conceal the facts in plain sight. Create our own bit of folk lore and legend that will steer people from a truth that could result in genocide. Mr. Irving, could I trust you to pen such a work?”

“
I am a scholar,
sir
,” Irv spat, infuriation morphing his face from red to purple. “I thrive off the pursuit of knowledge and the power that comes with an excess of information. Yet, you invite us here, by elaborate hand-scrolled invitation, and coax us to spread deliberate falsehoods? What possible motivation could you have in this? If you have
facts
to back these uproariously preposterous claims of yours, please,
speak
!”

Silence stifled the room.
The cloaked figure at the far end of the table rose to his feet. His chair squeaked across the wood floor as it pushed from the table. Pivoting his upper body, he faced Irv and drew back his hood.

Rip
threw himself back in his chair, his hand seizing his friend’s arm. Irv’s mouth opened and shut—a fish on dry land flung into a world where everything it thought it knew was wiped away.

“Th
at one is lively,” the manic-looking fellow beside Rip giggled, “has not even begun to reek.”

What they were seeing delved into fantastical realms of the impossible. Even so, the old man—with the eerily familiar face—
spoke in a recognizable cadence desiccated by time, “All at this table have been touched by the very darkest of magicks.”

At the
other end of the table, the mustached man scoffed in obvious disdain. Still, he said nothing.

“Each of your unique situations could be unleashed on this world, wit
h the impact of unstoppable plagues against mankind,” the man continued, his gaze flicking to Irv’s face, in particular, with interest. “This is not a threat, or a possibility, but an absolute certainty that has been foreseen.”

“By …
you
?” Irv croaked, finally finding his voice. His earlier arguments replaced by slack-jawed astonishment.

The old man’s mouth twitched in an almost smile. Whether intentional or not, he avoided the question. “The other two gentlemen have already given their compliance.”

“
I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat
,” Rip’s increasingly odd neighbor mused, gazing wistfully into the flickering flames atop the candelabra.

“
It falls now to the two of you.” Hands ravaged by arthritic knots curled around the armrests as the elderly man eased himself back to sitting. “What say you, gents? Will you join the brotherhood of our cause?”

Irv’s lingering points of concession
were lost in the overloaded labyrinth of his mind. The most he could muster was jerking his chin in agreement.

“Very good,” the spokesman said with audible pleasure. “There is one more favor we must ask. This one falling to you alone, Mr. Van Winkle.”

“Me?” Rip snorted, deeply longing for a pull from the flask hidden beneath his coat. “What possible good am I?”

“For this particular task
, you are actually quite the treasure,” the barrel-chested figure corrected. “Your … lackadaisical existence making you the perfect candidate.”

Rip leaned forward in his seat. Cradling his head in his hands, he
internally vowed to drain the flask bone dry the second he stepped foot from that stuffy room. “Planning to feed me to the Horseman, are you? Letting him quench his thirst for violence with this glorified drifter no one will miss?”

“You depreciate your worth. A new, and decidedly undesirable
, trait in you.” The old man steadied himself with a hand on the table as he turned to address Rip directly. “The role we have for you is an imperative one. Another Crane will come to Sleepy Hollow. With your guidance she will change everything the world will come to know of the Hessian. Until then, we need you to keep the talisman safe and prevent Ichabod from harming anyone.”

Rip rubbed a hand over the bristly stubble of his growing beard. “And when is this prodigal Crane set to arrive?”

The spokesman’s index finger flicked in a subtle gesture to the older man’s hood. Quickly, the fuzzy haired man replaced it. “The wait will be a lengthy one. Fortunately for you, we know of a way to make it breeze by in what will feel like a blink.”

Rip gulped, his mind seeing sinister smiles beneath the shadowed voids of those
hoods. Casting a nervous glance to Irv, he hoped his studious friend would offer some valid argument that would free him of this yolk. Instead, all Irv offered was a resolute nod of encouragement.

E
pilogue

Ireland

“It feels like we’re running.”

“We aren’t running.”

“I didn’t say we
were
running. I said it
feels
like we’re running. And this does, in fact, have a very definite fleeing vibe to it.”

Rip slapped a hand over his eyes
, then slowly dragged it down his face and over his beard. “Twenty minutes. That is how long we have been having this exact same argument. Is there
any
chance we can agree to disagree on the terms of our travels and achieve some sort of peace?”

Ireland’s grip tightened on the steering
wheel, faux leather squeaking beneath her hands. “Probably not! You made me look like a liar!”

“How exactly did I do that
, when
you
were the one that told
me
to pack our bags?” Rip shifted in the passenger seat, turning his upper body toward her in genuine, slightly irritable, interest.

“
You weren’t there! You didn’t see how things went with Noah!” Her hand flipped from the steering wheel as if that erratic gesture could somehow demonstrate her point. “I had this big, bold moment where I told him I could be trusted. After which,
despite what I said to you
, I fully intended to take a firm stand
at home
to show him I meant it and have nothing to hide! Now, because of you, I have a poorly packed weekender in the backseat and look like I’m oozing guilt!”

“
Well, you did recently slaughter two innocent people,” Rip pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ireland’s chin dipped to
shoot him a sideways glare. “In what world is that considered helping?”

“
Didn’t know I was supposed to be trying to.” One narrow shoulder rose and fell casually. “But the truth of the matter is that things have escalated far faster than we could’ve possibly imagined. You
are
the Hessian now and somewhere out there is a person, or persons, that had the foresight to pull the right strings to get that talisman inked onto your flesh. Which means someone out there knows you can be controlled. Now we
could
sit idly by, cross our fingers, and hope for the best—a method that
used
to be my tried and true. However, to save you from going on another unintended killing spree, I suggest we take a more proactive approach. The tattoo came from a shop in Manhattan, that’s as good a place as any to start looking for answers.”

Ireland’s narrow
ed gaze flicked from the road to Rip, and back again. “You’ve known about my tattoo from the beginning of all this, and yet tonight, after everything that’s happened, you
insist
we drop everything and go investigate? Why do I feel there’s more to this than you’re telling me?”

Rip clung to the dashboard as the car swerved between the lanes. “Because you’re an infuriatingly suspiciou
s girl that drives with the bouncing skill of a metronome?”

“Nope, try again!” Ireland
jerked the wheel in another rapid lane change.

“
We had to break the curse first
!” he yelled, finding his sense of urgency in that second swerve. “Only then would you be fit to travel and
safe
to be around others! We succeeded at that! There wasn’t an ideal time to pursue this until
now
!”

Ireland steadied the wheel
. The nasty pill of rational thought Rip administered dissolving bitterly on her tongue.

That would’ve been the end of it, had Rip not felt the need to get one last jab in
. “Now could you
please
focus on the road, or should I brace myself for further infantile tantrums?”

Blatant disrespect! Cut off his tongue and feed it to him!

Ireland’s shoulders sagged. “Way to go, you woke up my little friend,” she grumbled. “Do you think I’ll ever get used to his endless spewing of hate and violence?”

Rip twisted the end of his beard around his index finger. “Eventually you’ll learn to tune it out, or it’ll drive you slowly mad. One or the other.”

Shove his head out the window and drive through a narrow overpass!

“That’s a comforting thought.” Even she was a bit unsure of which of them she’d answered.

Rip bobbed his head, pleased with himself for helping. “We don’t need to make the entire lengthy voyage tonight.” He stifled a yawn behind his hand. “Perhaps we could find an inn? Continue our quest in the morning?”

“Nice of you to volunteer me to fund this exhibition, Frodo.” Ireland smirked
, flicking her bangs from her eyes.

“My apologies.
I was thinking of your comfort as much as my own. We can press on if you’d like.”

He’s not sorry! Slice his throat! Let his body rot
in a ditch!

“
No
!” Rip’s eyes widened at the sharp bite of Ireland’s tone. Clearing her throat, she attempted to imitate normal. “We can absolutely stop somewhere, not a problem at all.”

Even better! Take your time and slash him into small flushable bits!

“
Hey!
Let’s listen to some music! The louder the better!” Ireland stabbed the radio on, cranking the volume. Finding static on the first station, she hit the search button. It settled on a deep, raspy voice that filled the car with the audible equivalent of warm molasses. Instantly, she recoiled. “Ugh, no.”

She was about to tap the search button again when ….

What is this drivel that assaults my ears?

Her finger
hovered over the button. Waiting. Testing. “This would be the music of one Kenneth Rogers in which he soulfully explains to his female companion—or his,
lady
—that he is her knight in shining armor and he loves her. You like?”

“I do!” Rip beamed
, swaying side-to-side, blissful in his misconception she was talking to him.

Turn it off you vile sorceress! End me of this torment!

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m gonna.” Ireland demonstrated that point further by securing her hands precisely at the two and ten o’clock positions.

I shall return! Make no mistake of that!

Then,
finally
, silence.

“This is much nicer than the music from my day
,” Rip said, humming along to the tune. “Significantly less accordion. Do you listen to it often?”

“I do now
.” Despite the horrific night, a slow smile curled across her lips. “Matter of fact, I think this is my new favorite song.”

Ireland
perched on the edge of the hotel bed with one leg curled under her and the other dangling off the side. A soft knock at the door tore her gaze from her laptop. “For the last time, Rip, we are not sharing a room. Go to sleep you skeevy, old perv!”

Silence
restored, she clicked the mouse and dragged another overly sappy country song from her purchased folder onto her iPod. Another knock sounded, more insistent this time, just as she highlighted another selection.

“Oh, for crying out loud!”
Throwing herself off the bed, she stomped to the door and yanked it open with more force than necessary. “It seems redundant for me to have to say I am the
wrong
person to tick off, yet—“

Her
rant trailed off. Replaced by her jaw swinging wide at the well-muscled frame casting a long shadow through her room. His name slipped from her lips as a breathless whisper, “Noah?”

“I can’t imagine the reception would’ve been any warmer if you knew it was me.”
His gaze rose slowly, peering up at her from under his brow. The look of a naughty boy that had stayed out long after the street lights came on.

“I wouldn’t have rolled out the red carpet, that’s for sure.”
Tossing her hair back, she tried to distract from the rosy flush that warmed her cheeks at the sudden
painful
awareness of her tank top/boy-short pajama combo. “What are you doing here?”

“I followed you.
” Leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, his gazed flicked passed her into the room. “Spent most of the drive right behind you. Heck, I even waved a couple of times. It’s actually kind of alarming how unaware of your surroundings you are when you drive.”

Ireland scowled and glanced over her shoulder
. “What are you looking at?”

“Checking to see where your ‘uncle’ or that gigantic horse are hiding. Seems a small room for the whole family.”

“Rip is most likely snoring away next door at an octave that can make the human ear bleed. And Regen, honestly, I have no idea where he goes. Maybe he haunts a hay field until I need him. Plus,” she tagged on, pointedly hitching one brow, “they know I can handle myself.”

“I saw you in action
. You don’t have to tell me.” Pushing himself off the door, Noah took a brazen step into the room.

Ireland planted her feet
, refusing to give an inch. “What do you want, Noah?” Sweat dampened her palms, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her wipe it away.

For a moment he said nothing, just stared
, his hazel eyes gleaming flecks of warm amber in the room’s dim light. His tongue flicked across his lower lip while he searched for the right words. A simple gesture that caused tingles of heat to spread through her chest.

When
explanation failed him, he dug into his pocket. Presenting her with his closed fist. “This belongs with you.”

Ireland forced her
stare to his slowly opening hand. “My talisman? Why would you give that back?”

“Th
e night you spent at my house, you had it on. You were trying to control—whatever it is inside you.”

Ireland’s lips parted, yet
bobbing her head was the closest she could come to forming a thought.

“
Tonight, you saved me without hurting anyone and it had
nothing
to do with this thing.” Metal clinked in his palm as he thrust his hand in her direction. “I believe you, Ireland, and I
trust you
enough to give this back.”

Her brows knitting
together tight, she took a tentative step back. “I don’t want it.”

Suspicion
etched deep lines across his forehead. “Why?”

“I
–I have control,” she stammered in explanation. “I know that. Even so, it doesn’t change the fact that I
have
hurt people. And I
never
want that to happen again.” Blinking hard, she held back the sudden wash of tears that threatened. “I need someone I can trust to hold that for me. So that if the worst were to happen—if the monster ever gets free—they can stop it.”

Noah’s features softened. With a brief nod of understanding
, he returned the talisman to his pocket. “I think I’m the right guy for that job.”