Hollowed: Return to Sleepy Hollow, the Complete Duology

by Candace Wondrak

  Tom leaned forward, laying his hands atop the desk, his fingers tapping the desktop. “There’s always more to crime in Sleepy Hollow, Karen. If you take a look at the crime statistics, you’ll find we have one of the lowest rates in the country—but for the crimes we do have, we have one of the highest rates of unsolved cases.”

  The newscaster, Karen, forced out a laugh so fake it jarred when it entered my ears. “I think that means Tarry needs a better police force—” Insulting the local cops? Not very nice, but I could tell Karen didn’t believe half of the words this Tom said. She was only here with him now because the news execs forced her to be.

  “No, it’s because for most of these cases, the culprits aren’t of this world,” Tom cut in, dividing his time between staring at Karen and the camera. “It isn’t a secret Sleepy Hollow is possessed. Everyone in that part of Tarry knows it. Windows open suddenly, car alarms go off in the middle of the night even though the vehicle wasn’t tampered with…the list goes on. If you walk alone at night, you feel like you’re being watched.”

  My breath caught in the back of my throat; it was as if I knew exactly what Tom was going to say before he said it: the bridge.

  “There’s an old bridge in Sleepy Hollow that’s haunted. Everyone knows not to cross it at midnight. If you do—”

  “If you do,” Karen spoke, laughing, “you’ll be haunted.”

  Tom was not amused. “Yes. It’s the Headless Horseman’s bridge.” In the bottom corner of the screen, an image of a headless man shrouded in black appeared. It didn’t look much like him, but it got the point across. “Some think the Headless Horseman isn’t a real figure. The legend says Ichabod Crane was run out of town after riding home drunk. On that same bridge, he encountered a cloaked, headless figure, who threw his head at him. In the morning, there was no sign of Ichabod, only the battered remains of a pumpkin.”

  Karen was nodding again. “And people say it was the town hero, right?” She knew a little about the legends, but she wasn’t a Sleepy Hollow resident. She wasn’t knee-deep in superstitions.

  “Yes, and Abraham Brunt went on to marry Katrina Tassel. They had a happy life, but not for long. Abraham was found dead in his bed a few months later, a deep gash in his gut.”

  I sat back, nearly spilling the coffee on myself. What was Tom saying? That Abraham pretended to be the Headless Horseman, and the original spirit himself didn’t like it? Or…

  “It was of course after Katrina was pregnant, which is why the town has some of his descendants today. But my point here is, even before that night with the pumpkin, there were rumors about that bridge and the Headless Horseman.”

  Karen leveled with him, raising an impeccably-plucked eyebrow as she asked, “Are you suggesting the Headless Horseman killed the victim yesterday?”

  “I’m saying there have been half a dozen cases in the grove of Sleepy Hollow involving a similar death,” Tom stated, pointing at the tabletop as if shoving his finger against it would make Karen believe him. It wouldn’t. He sounded crazy, just like my dad, and as I watched the TV, I couldn’t help but wonder if they’d ever met. If they were friends. He and my dad would’ve gotten along well. “In the last hundred years alone. That is not a coincidence.”

  Karen turned to look at the camera, saying something about a commercial break and they’d be right back. Then the news program cut out, leaving me to watch a commercial involving two older people, sitting in bathtubs as they held hands and watched the nature around them. Pretty sure it was a Viagra commercial.

  I would’ve thought Tom as crazy as a crack addict before, but now? Now his argument made so much sense. Too much sense.

  Ichabod Crane was drunk, sad that he wasn’t winning Katrina’s affections over Abraham, and he was so drunk he went to the one place he shouldn’t have: the bridge that the Headless Horseman haunted. Abraham was waiting for him, dressed as the Headless Horseman, wanting to scare him out of town—and he did. But how long was Abraham there? Was he waiting for Ichabod when the clock turned midnight? Did he put a mark on his soul simply because he was playing dirty?

  If Abraham was at the bridge at midnight, then the real Headless Horseman had marked him, followed him just like he was doing with me, only he didn’t want Abraham’s help to find his head.

  The real story…it was more twisted than the legends said, and I didn’t know what to do with that knowledge. I also didn’t know where I fit into it. I was a spitting image of Katrina, and I felt drawn to both Crane and Bones in a way I’d never been drawn to anyone before. It was as if fate was laughing at us, telling us to replay history and reinvigorate the legend of Sleepy Hollow.

  I didn’t want to be Katrina Van Tassel, and I sure as shit didn’t want Bones and Crane to replay their ancestors’ roles. If fate wanted us to have a redo of the old legend, fate could go fuck off. I wasn’t about to play. I’d shove that board far away from me so fast if you blinked, you’d miss it.

  No thanks, I’d say. Not happening. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. I’m no rich damsel in distress, caught between two men. I’m…

  Well, I wasn’t quite sure what I was, but I sure as shit wasn’t rich.

  I was in the kitchen making myself another cup of coffee when Crane returned, lugging in a black plastic bag that was labeled with two broomsticks crossed together. I turned to him, leaning my back on the counter as I brought the mug to my lips. “Did you have a nice stop at the witch store? Oh, and I believe you have something of mine.”

  Crane’s green eyes flicked to me behind his glasses. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. “Technically, they’re you’re father’s keys—”

  “Technically, they’re mine now, since my dad is dead,” I reminded him, a bit too snippy considering the subject matter of what we were talking about. I set the mug down, snatching the keys from him and stuffing them back where they belonged. With me, and not with him.

  He got quiet for a moment, probably thinking about my dad, about all the stupid shit they’d get into together. Spooky research, scaring half the town with their the-veil-is-opening theories. Then again, after witnessing Mike being possessed, I didn’t think they were such oddball theories anymore.

  Unable to take the silence for long, I leaned on the island counter beside him, studying the black bag he brought in. “So what’d you get?” I asked, fighting the way my core warmed up in memory of what we did last night, how a secret—okay, maybe not-so-secret—part of me wanted to do it again.

  No more banging Crane. That should go without saying, yet here I was, saying it. Or thinking it.

  Whatever.

  “And did you find whatever it was in the house?” I carried on, noting the way his eyes clouded over. A minute of silence passed, and I snapped my fingers before him, jerking him back to reality. “Earth to Crane. You in there, buddy?” Calling a man I just had sex with buddy? Yeah, I went there.

  “I’m sorry,” Crane muttered, pushing off the island and running a hand down his face. He lifted his glasses and pinched the rim of his nose. “I just…I don’t understand it. When I reached your father’s house, the front door was wide open. The whole house looks like a tornado went through it. Someone or something is looking for what I was looking for.”

  Somehow, the news of the house being tossed around didn’t shock me. I guess Sleepy Hollow and its freaky, everyday happenstances grew more normal as the days wore on. My eyebrows came together. “How do you know what they’re looking for?”

  “Because it’s the one thing not in the house,” Crane said. “Your father’s journal.”

  “Right,” I deadpanned, suddenly remembering the journal was the be-all, end-all of this whole thing. “Because all of the secrets to Sleepy Hollow are in my dad’s journal.” Crane’s look was all I needed to know that my would-be joke was more of a sad truth. “Tell me you’re not serious. Tell me this is some elaborate joke that I—”

  “It’s not a joke, Kat,” Crane said. “Every discovery, every spell and poti
on, each and every experiment we did that worked is in that journal. I have no way to replicate the potion without knowing the exact amount of each ingredient—I’d be doing guesswork—”

  I blinked. “Spells. Spells and potions.”

  “Yes.”

  “Spells. We’re really talking about spells here.” Before Crane could respond, I let out a groan. “This is what my life has come to, huh?” I wanted to find a wall, label it with an X and bang my head on it, over and over. Then maybe I could forget about how weird this was.

  “I’m afraid so,” Crane spoke dryly. “However, the issue is not only with the potion itself. I remember most of the mixture, just not the specific amounts of each ingredient.” He started to pull things out of the black bag.

  I had no idea what they were, each ingredient was in its own tinier, see-through bag. One looked like dried leaves, the next appeared to be some white flower petals, and the last…well, the last bag looked like salt. Big, white chunks.

  If I would’ve known we were getting our Supernatural on, I would’ve brought more badass outfits.

  “I’ll fiddle with it today, see if I can jog my memory.” Crane let out a sigh, closing his eyes momentarily. “I was really hoping I’d find your father’s journal.”

  “If the potion’s not the main issue, what is?” Crane’s jade eyes flicked to me, and suddenly I knew. “Getting Bones over here,” I muttered, feeling my shoulders slump. After what happened, would he come if I called? I doubted he’d ever want to come to Crane’s house, and convincing him to ingest a questionable substance was going to be difficult.

  Crane held back a frown, although a slight downward quirk of his lips told me he was failing in holding it in. “Yes, Brom is the problem. Honestly, I’m not even sure this will work. It worked on your father, and it worked on me, but we never tested it out on anyone else before.”

  So Crane and my dad took field trips into the otherworld, huh? It didn’t surprise me. What did surprise me was the fact that these two kept it to themselves. With how vocal my dad was about Sleepy Hollow and its legends, I figured he would have spread the word as fast as he could once he knew he had a something that could transport consciousness into another world.

  I grabbed the nearest small baggie, the one with the white, salt-like chunks in it, running my finger along the plastic. “If Bones can keep the police off my back, you and I can try to figure out how to close the veil, or something.” Yes, or something. Something to stop these spirits from coming after me for God knew what. Possession, something else, who knew? Either way, I didn’t want to find out.

  Crane nodded once. “You’re right.” His gaze rested on me, and I did my best to pretend I didn’t notice it. He looked at me a bit differently now, as if seeing my orgasm face had brought us closer. It didn’t.

  What we did upstairs last night was just sex. Nothing more. No real feelings attached to our sweating, naked bodies. If Crane thought our sex-capades meant we were boyfriend and girlfriend, he had another thing coming.

  But Crane didn’t bring it up. He only got to work, pulling out a few bowls from one of the cabinets and telling me to fetch the measuring spoons in the silverware drawer.

  Good. If he didn’t bring it up, maybe we could pretend like it never happened.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A few hours later, I was sitting on the steps leading to Crane’s giant front door, my cell phone in my hands. Luckily Crane had a charger for it, so I was able to juice it up a bit. I’d made the call I had to, got Bones to agree to pick me up.

  How did I get him to come to Crane’s house, his mortal enemy’s lavish, expensive home? I told him that I’d made a mistake, that I missed Bones and needed to fully explain what had happened at Mike’s office yesterday. Three things that I knew were sure to get him over here lickety-split.

  Even after all this time, Bones wanted to protect me. He’d acted as my friend and my protector during our summers together, and that hadn’t changed, even if he’d grown into a sexy beast of a man.

  The breeze was soft and gentle, and I turned my face up to the sky. Crane had a few towering trees on his property, but none near the house, so I was able to gaze up at the clear blue expanse above me. Not a cloud in sight, which was odd for Sleepy Hollow. Its weather was typically one of dreary coziness, the kind of weather that made you want to grab a sweater and a book and sit near a window as the soft rain tapped on the glass. Spirits aside, this town wasn’t a bad place to be.

  The potion was complete, or at least Crane thought so. He’d done his best to replicate the potion him and my dad cooked up, but from what he said, the effects might be different. I had no idea what that meant, and I didn’t particularly care. As long as it worked, as long as it got Bones back to my side, I’d be fine with it. Now the only thing left to do was wait for Bones to get off work and get here.

  I heard the door behind me open, and Crane walked out, sitting his tall frame beside me. So far today, I hadn’t seen hide nor hair or the Headless Horseman, or that freaky white-haired woman who was following me in the otherworld. It made me happy, but also filled me with a strange, inexplicable feeling of wistfulness, almost as if I wanted to see the Headless Horseman again.

  Fucking stupid.

  “I’ve thought about it,” Crane said, and I glanced at him sharply, waiting for him to continue. I had no idea what the man was talking about. “It would be a terrible mistake to—”

  To what? My mind went to the only place it could, since it was my mind, and last night was the first time in a while I’d orgasmed with the help of a dick and not batteries. It would be a terrible mistake to pretend last night didn’t happen? A mistake to say we could never be more than friends? Was Crane trying to finally win Katrina and make his ancestor proud?

  Of course, my mind completely jumped to the wrong conclusion. Go figure.

  Here’s the full bit of what he said: “It would be a terrible mistake to let you go with him. I’m going to drink it with him.”

  Ah, righty-o. The spell, the potion, whatever it was. Not our sex. Because not everything was about sex, Kat. Get your mind out of the gutter.

  This potion thing would send their consciousness to the otherworld, or at least it was supposed to. Crane would drink it with him, and leave me with both his and Bones’s motionless, seemingly lifeless bodies? No thanks. Talk about creepy.

  “Why would you go with him?”

  Crane spoke as if his answer should have been obvious, “Because the spirits are after you.” Okay, yeah, he had a good point there. I, however, also had a good point.

  “But the Headless Horseman will protect me. As long as he’s around, the other spirits will stay away.” Putting my faith into a murderous, headless man? Never thought I’d reach that point in my life. Welcome to the world. “Whereas if you and Bones go, who’s to stop a spirit from getting to you guys?” I remembered what he said about spirits wanting to possess the easier, weaker people, but still. Being trapped in the otherworld? They’d look like two cool glasses of water to a bunch of dehydrated freaks who’d been stuck in the desert for years.

  I mean, might as well make them a flashing neon sign, right?

  Crane gave me an incredulous look behind his glasses. “You’re saying you think you can stop the Headless Horseman from attacking Brom?”

  “Uh, yeah, pretty much.” I had more of an attitude than I wanted to have, and I tried to tone it back when I added, “The Headless Horseman wants me to help him find his head. I have no idea if I could, but—”

  “But you’ll use him to suit your needs,” Crane finished for me.

  “Well, when you say it like that, you make me sound kind of mean,” I muttered, turning my gaze to the long driveway ahead of us. He was right, though. I wasn’t above using the Headless Horseman for my own purposes—did that make me a horrible person? Did that mean I was going to Hell?

  Fuck. Did I believe in Hell now? After everything that’s happened in the last week, I just might.

 
“And if the Headless Horseman doesn’t listen to you? If he still goes after Brom and you watch him cut Brom down?” Crane spoke, an unfamiliar wildness coating each word. “What then? What will you do when you come back to the real world and Brom is nothing but a vegetable?”

  “That’s what would happen if you die while in the otherworld?”

  Crane whispered, “Yes. Your mind would be gone. Your soul. There would be nothing left other than your body.” He reached for my hand, the one not holding onto my cell phone, no longer upset, but earnest. “I will not let you take that risk, Kat, regardless of how much you may care for Brom.”

  I was going to pull my hand out from underneath his, but when he spoke of Bones and my feelings for him, I froze. Crane didn’t think we were together, even after last night. The Cranes lost when it came to Katrina Van Tassel, and I was her doppelganger. The man beside me probably viewed last night as some kind of consolation prize. I bet, in the end, he thought I’d choose Bones.

  To that I could not say fuck that enough. Fuck it to fucking hell and back. This was the twenty-first century. I wasn’t caught in some ancient love triangle where I was forced to choose in the end. This wasn’t some teenage TV show where the female main character was caught between the friendly hero and the dark and mysterious new guy. This was my fucking life, and it was crazy.

  It was so crazy that I had a ridiculous thought. It was a thought I’d had before, but this time I meant it very differently. This time, when I thought to myself I won’t choose, I didn’t mean it as if I refused to be caught in the middle. I meant it as I won’t choose, as in I would stay in the middle for as long as the two men would have me in the middle. I could date them both. I could be with them both. They could each have me; everyone wins, right?

  A pipe dream, I knew. Life wasn’t so simple, wasn’t so easy. Plus, dating them both would mean I’d have to stay in Sleepy Hollow, which a huge part of me still didn’t want to do.