SLEEPY HOLLOW: General of the Dead (Jason Crane Book 3)

by Gleaves, Richard

  Eddie frowned. “What?”

  “That’s why your head falls off, stupid. There’s… not enough ghost.”

  “No shit?”

  “The Horseman’s in two pieces and…” Another realization struck Jason, and he gaped at Agathe. “… and she’s going to put you together.”

  Agathe snapped her fingers. “Transform, Edward.”

  “Wait one second,” said Eddie. “What do you mean, ‘put us together’?”

  “She’s going to put his head on your neck.”

  “How can she do that?”

  “How can she do any of this?”

  “Enough!” Agathe raised a hand toward Eddie. “The transformation is more painful when I force it.”

  Eddie pointed at Jason. “Is he right?”

  “You’re screwed, Martinez,” Jason said, with a laugh. “She’s just after your body, man.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You got played.”

  “I said shut up!” Eddie thumped his own chest with the hatchet. “If she does that, what happens to me?”

  “You think she cares?”

  “All lies,” Agathe said. “I adore you, Edward. You’ve been faithful.” She set the reliquary down. “This was my first Horseman, true. But you are my second.” She stroked Eddie’s cheek. “Trust me.”

  “Trust you?” Eddie gazed into her eyes, for such a long time that Jason thought she might be hypnotizing him. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. Sure. You been pretty good to me.”

  Jason’s heart sank.

  “Do it then,” said Agathe. “Goodbye, Jason Crane, son of Andrew, son of Adam, son of Jack, son of Jesse, son of Absalom, son of Ichabod, son of William.” She pronounced the last with contempt. “You are his seventh son. And tonight his victim will be avenged. This is justice.”

  “You know what, Agathe?” said Jason. “Now that you’ve got your teeth back… bite me.”

  “Kill him.”

  Eddie approached, and Jason braced himself. He’d imagined his own decapitation so many times, wondering how much it would hurt. Now he would find out. The blade would pass through his throat, his spine, his head would hit the floor, roll, and his last sight would be of Kate’s face, distorted and cruel and full of hatred. He raised his chin, exposing his neck. He’d be brave. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing his fear. If only… if only he could stop his jaw from quivering.

  Eddie raised the hatchet, cocked his arm back, rolled his eyes, and whispered, “To hell with this witch.”

  He swung…

  … and cut Jason’s ropes.

  Jason fell to one knee, amazed to be breathing. He tore at his restraints, struggling to free his wrists. Eddie whirled to strike Agathe, but she was ready for him. She muttered a spell; Eddie cried out and fell back; one hand darted to his temple, where an indentation and a spot of mold appeared.

  Jason ripped free of the ropes and took advantage of Agathe’s distraction. He seized the bleeding bowl, raised it over his head, and hurled it against the red brick. It shattered into a thousand pieces. “Papa!” she screamed, and threw herself to the floor, sobbing like a little girl. “Oh, no! Papa! Don’t leave me again! Oh, no. No! No! No!”

  “Ergeben,” Eddie groaned. The transformation was almost complete, but he was fighting it.

  Jason snatched up the silver owl talisman and dropped to Agathe’s side. He wrapped it around her neck and held it there, practically strangling her. She kicked and clawed. He clapped one hand over her mouth, silencing her spells. Her whole body stiffened, and a wind whipped through the room.

  Agathe’s eyes cleared, and… someone else looked up at him.

  He removed his hand, warily.

  “Jason?” said Kate, coughing.

  “Keep that talisman on!

  A shadow rose over both of them and Kate’s eyes went wide. “Look out!”

  Jason grabbed a piece of firewood, swung it above his head, and blocked the Horseman’s chop just in time, wincing at the pain in his shoulders. “Go! Go!”

  Kate stumbled to her feet and ran for the iron door. She pulled the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. The Horseman, lit by lightning, circled Jason, passing his hatchet from hand to hand so Jason couldn’t anticipate the next blow.

  “Grab the reliquary!” Jason shouted.

  “The what?” said Kate.

  “The lantern! On the floor!”

  The Horseman saw an opening and lunged. Jason got the log up again, but the chop split it. He threw the pieces at the Monster, trying to escape, darting around the room. He used the little table as a shield, but soon that was splinters as well. The Horseman swung backhanded, a perfect killing chop, but Kate caught his arm, slowed it, and Jason backed off before the blade could open his stomach. The Horseman tore free and raised the hatchet at Kate, ready to kill her.

  “How dare you threaten me!” Kate growled, her voice imperious and cruel.

  The Horseman froze, confused as to her identity.

  “Kate?” Jason was confused as well. She still wore the talisman, but had Agathe taken her again?

  “Obey me, my Horseman!” She brandished the reliquary. “I need this boy alive.” She stepped between Jason and the Monster. Behind her back, she gave a surreptitious wave, gesturing for Jason to retreat up the stairs. He did. She followed him, walking backward, her eyes on the Horseman. “Stay where you are. I will—shall—be back… forthwith.” They’d retreated up three steps when the Monster gave an agitated little growl.

  “He’s not buying it,” Jason whispered.

  “Look!” Kate shouted, pointing over the Horseman’s shoulder. “Ichabod!”

  The Horseman turned to look.

  Kate pressed the reliquary into Jason’s arms. “Run!” They sprinted up the stairs.

  Hadewych appeared on the second-floor landing, blocking their way. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Kate raised a fist and popped Hadewych in the nose. He stumbled backward, through the door with the doggie flap, and fell onto the next flight of steps. Jason and Kate joined him and slammed the metal door shut behind them, but it didn’t lock from this side. Jason handed the reliquary back to Kate and pressed his shoulder to the door, bracing his big feet just as the Horseman arrived. The door shook and began to open. No way Jason could hold him off.

  Hadewych rubbed his nose. “Agathe? Why did you hit me?”

  Kate hugged the reliquary to her chest and resumed her performance. “You’ve angered my monster. Now he will kill us all. Help the Crane boy!”

  Hadewych’s eyes went wide. He rose and braced the door, shoulder to shoulder with Jason. With difficulty, they pressed it shut. The Horseman began hacking at it now, raising grey metal goose bumps.

  “Use your Gift!” Jason said. “Weld it shut!”

  He blinked at the sudden light as Hadewych lit a hand and went to work fusing the metal. “I’ve angered it? How?”

  Kate froze, stumped.

  “Does it matter?” said Jason. “Take Agathe up top! Keep her safe.”

  “Why are you protecting her?” said Hadewych.

  “Because it’s Kate’s body.”

  Kate rolled her eyes. “So sentimental!” She was getting into the role. “The boy comes with me. I have need of him. You stay and keep… welding that door, Hadewych.”

  Hadewych went still. His brows knit. He stopped working and backed off. Flames rose from his fingertips like steam. “What did you say?”

  Kate hesitated. “Keep… welding that door.”

  “Get back here,” said Jason, struggling. “Help me!”

  Hadewych raised a finger. “You called me ‘Hadewych.’”

  “Of course,” said Kate, haughtily. “That is your name!”

  “But Agathe pronounces it… the Dutch way.” He took a step toward Kate, backing her up the stairs. “Which is what?”

  Kate shrugged helplessly. “Haydie… wick?”

  “You little bitch.” He gestured to the reliquary. “Hand that over.”


  “Run,” Jason mouthed, silently.

  Kate broke character and sprinted up the stairs. Hadewych lit his hands and took off in pursuit. Jason couldn’t follow. Hadewych’s incomplete weld was already giving way. Jason was the human doorstop, and if he let loose the Horseman would cut right through him and go for Kate. She screamed, somewhere above.

  DANGER! KATE! HELP! NOW! blared his psychic alarm.

  “I know! I know!”

  Jason searched for his firewood, thinking to brace the door, but he’d dropped it below. Could he do something with his Gift?

  KATE! COME! HELP! HURRY!

  What could he do?

  The door went still. Jason listened. Had the Monster gone away? Could he be that lucky?

  The Horseman’s hand shot through the flap at Jason’s feet, closing on his ankle. Jason cried out and kicked until the hand let go. The door lurched. He braced himself again, widening his stance because his sweatpants were falling down.

  KATE! DANGER!

  Let Kate get away. He can kill me. That’s fine. Just not her.

  The weld snapped. The door cracked open. The Horseman was too strong. Jason couldn’t hold him off. He was exhausted, sick and weak. It was over. He was finished.

  “Need a hand?” said a voice.

  “Kate? I told you to—”

  But it wasn’t Kate. It was Dr. Tamper, looking fit and well-rested. Jason had never been so glad to see a ghost.

  “I’ve got this,” said the doctor, bracing the door.

  Jason hitched his pants. “You sure?”

  “I can buy you time. But do me a favor?”

  “What?”

  “Take my ashes. Scatter them up top. I don’t want to haunt this place.”

  Jason nodded and let go. Tamper held the door shut. He was a strong spirit, but the strain was obvious. “Thank you,” Jason said, backing up the stairs.

  The good doctor smiled. “Be a healer, Jason. Live up to your name.”

  “I will.”

  And in that moment, Jason Crane’s hands started glowing again.

  He was glad of the light. He ran up to the third floor and grabbed the coffee can containing Tamper’s ashes. He took the stairs two at a time. The brick was scorched, all the way up.

  HELP! KATE! HURRY! NOW!

  In the porthole room he found Hadewych struggling with Kate on the spiral staircase. He was trying to rip the reliquary from her grasp. Jason caught the back of Hadewych’s shirt and pulled hard. The man careened over the railing and fell with a WHUMP! Kate pulled the reliquary up through the trap, disappearing. Jason sprinted up the stairs, narrowly avoiding a fireball, and joined Kate in the maintenance room. He scanned the floor and snatched up a fallen spray can.

  Hadewych rose through the trap, hands on fire. Jason used Hadewych’s own flames to ignite the spray paint, making the can a flamethrower. Hadewych’s sleeve caught fire and he let out a roar, backing down the stairs and shaking his arm. The spray can sputtered, and Jason threw it at the man’s forehead.

  “Where now?” Kate shouted, trying to be heard over the storm.

  “Up! Up!”

  “Why are your hands glowing?”

  “Up!”

  He and Kate climbed the ladder to the lantern room and squeezed into the claustrophobic space.

  “Ideas?” said Kate.

  Jason searched the rain-swept glass and gazed longingly at the shoreline, at the village of Sleepy Hollow, so close, sparkling with house lights and traffic lights and porch lights. He felt like a trapped fly beating itself against glass, trying to reach the sun. He just wanted out, by any means necessary.

  He took a deep breath. “There is one way down.”

  Kate’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

  Jason pointed. “There’s less rocks on that side.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “No.”

  Jason yanked open the half-door at their knees. They bent and crawled through. Rain struck the narrow catwalk outside like a hail of bullets. Thunder cracked the sky. The wind buffeted Jason, almost throwing him over the rail. Kate grabbed his arm, steadying him. A claw of icy rain raked his cheek. His wet hair hung in his eyes. He turned his back to the wind, and Kate led him to the landward side. She swung a leg over and clutched the reliquary to her chest.

  “One second!” Jason shouted.

  He opened the coffee can and shook out Tamper’s ashes. They spindled over the Hudson and vanished. He gave a brief solemn nod—I’ll be a healer—and threw the can away.

  “Jason Crane!” Hadewych screamed, somewhere below. Flame filled the lantern room, and the glass behind them exploded. Plumes of fire jetted outward, stretched and bent and sizzled into the sky, as if the lighthouse had become a candle. Jason and Kate climbed over the rail, holding tight against the wind, slipping on wet metal, caught between the fire scorching their backs and a six-story plunge onto water-whipped rocks below. A window on the third floor burst open and the Horseman appeared, pulling his body through, climbing the outer wall.

  “Well, this sucks,” muttered Kate.

  They laughed, helplessly, at the absurdity of their situation. Lightning struck and thunder punched it back. Kate gave Jason a kiss. He gave her one. She gathered the reliquary, they let go of the rail…

  … and jumped.

  PART FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  “Bumps in the Night”

  Scarecrows danced in the pumpkin field—the pumpkin field of Baltus Van Tassel. Hundreds of them, jittering with ecstasy like a tribe of shamans conjuring the lightning storm. They reveled on the hillside, arms waving, legs swinging, vacant faces splashed by rain. They danced with the linden trees, to the rhythm of the wind chimes and the graveyard whistle that piped across the bones of the skeletal greenhouse. They flicked water from their fingertips as they danced, as if casting new pumpkin seed where Baltus once tilled, on the ground that Brom Bones staked out for his manor, in the happier times before poor Katrina leapt into the quarry-pit. Down below the scarecrow dance, the aqueduct swelled with rain. The swift water added its voice to the music, gargling like a sore-throated Valkyrie. The sign that read “Scarecrow Invasion!” fell over and kited away.

  A lone shutter beat on the stone face of Lyndhurst, tapping its foot like a wallflower, watching the dance of the scarecrows and longing to join. It kept perfect time as it beat on the limestone, ruining the sleep of the witches inside.

  Mather the Gift-Catcher lay with hands folded, trying to sleep but unable to do so. He was the true lord of Lyndhurst now, wasn’t he? Snug in the four-poster bed of Jay Gould. The tapping, to him, was the ticking of boxes. The boxes upon his to-do list, of course. Serve the appointed. Check. Trammel the Gifted. Check. Seize every photo. Check. Save Sleepy Hollow. Check. No more Centralias. No more rogue witches. Take the damn Treasure from Hadewych Van Brunt. Check, check, and check. The sword he had taken from Gory Brook leaned in the corner, glinting in moonlight. Powerful magic, to summon the Horseman. All of your enemies dead and beheaded. The Gift-Catcher wriggled his toes as the shutter kept tapping. Endlessly tapping.

  Jessica slept in the bedroom of Helen, the wife of Jay Gould, in her own feather bed. The shutter, to her, was the music of money, the clinking of coins into some piggy bank. One million. Clink. Two million. Clink. A hundred and twelve million. Clinkety-clink. She was the heir to the Legacy now, and she swore that she’d never sell popcorn again.

  Zef couldn’t sleep. He worried for Joey, worried for Jason, worried for Kate. His psychic alarm had gone dark in the Dead Zone. The shutter to him was the pulse of his heartbeat, pumping the blood of his ancestors through him. Pumping their legacy into his veins. Dylan and Agathe, Hadewych and Brom. Dylan and Agathe, Hadewych and Brom. Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat. Dylan and Agathe, Hadewych and Brom.

  Valerie sat at the desk in her bedroom, eyes red from crying and desperate for Mike. The ceiling above her was vaulted and painted with stars in a field of bright cornflower blue. She sat by the li
ght of a Tiffany lamp, laying down tarot cards, asking them questions, puzzling out patterns of cups, wands, and pentacles, spreads full of swords and reversals and darkness, slapping them down with each tap of the shutter. Card. Card. Card. Card. What’s going to happen and how do we solve it? Card. Card. Card. Card. All through the night as the shutter kept time…

  … and scarecrows danced in the pumpkin field.

  At the Sleepy Hollow Police Station, Fireman Mike Parson sat in handcuffs, listening to the rain outside. The white noise sounded like a burst hydrant, endlessly pouring into the streets. He wanted to jump up, grab his gear, and go fix it. Not immediately, of course. Let the kids play in the spray for a while. Let them laugh and slip and try to drink from the gusher. Let it pulse against their backs and break over their heads. No harm. No harm. There’s plenty. Plenty enough for a twenty-story blaze, plenty enough for the village swimming pool. Plenty of wet for everybody.

  Thunder cracked and lightning pop-flashed at the window, like the camera of a crime photographer in some old movie, documenting the position of the murder victim, creating some photo like the one on the table in front of Mike: Frank Darley, the hedge fund guy from New York, found floating in the millpond last October second.

  Mike had been there that day. He could see his own arm in the photograph, in red fleece, holding the corpse by the back of its jacket. The man’s eye had a car antenna through it. He was bloodless, as if drained by the red power tie snaking down his muddy chest.

  “We know you’re the Horseman Killer,” said Detective Martinez, sitting opposite.

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “You recognize that man?”

  “Just from the papers.”

  “Just from the papers. How about Susan Birmingham? You know her?”

  “Who?”

  “Nice girl. She came in yesterday. Said you two had a thing last fall.”

  “I’ve never heard of her.”

  “She was sleeping with Darley. His wife confirms it.” He tapped the photo. “You the jealous type?”