But Carlos’ body was not there.
“Where is he?” said Kate.
Jason found the blood puddle at the door and followed a smear of darker brown to a stand of weeds twenty feet away.
“I found him.” Jason said. He turned away and vomited in the bushes. He heard Kate’s gasp.
A blood-soaked hipbone lay in the weeds. Nothing else.
“Where is he?” Kate said.
Jason pulled her away. “Don’t think about it.”
“No.” She covered her face.
“Yeah.”
They walked to the barn, trying to process their realization that, on his way back to the forest, the Horseman had paused to make a new horse from the remains of Carlos.
“Did he have a family?” Jason said.
“No,” said Kate.
They entered the barn and fell into the straw, overcome.
“What were you dreaming about?” Kate asked. “You were thrashing around all night.”
“Weren’t we supposed to take turns on watch?”
“Are you okay?”
Jason sighed. “No. I’ve been having the same Nightmare almost every night since Halloween. A bad one. And—I think it’s a message. Someone’s trying to show me something.”
She sat up, considering. “I’ve heard of people getting messages like that. From their ancestors.”
“You think one of the Cranes is… contacting me?”
“It’s possible.”
Jason frowned, thinking.
Kate ran a thumb across his cheek. “How did you get that nasty scratch?”
Jason wondered if he should tell her. He decided not to. “Branch,” he muttered.
Kate didn’t remember that she had scratched his face in the woods, when Agathe had possessed her. Agathe had spoken through Kate. William Crane, that was the name Agathe had growled. “I have made my sacrifices. Take him, my Horseman! The last child of William Crane.”
Jason knew the name. William Crane was Ichabod’s father. The soldier.
Jason thought of Eliza’s filing cabinet. The genealogy records, which he’d never read. A trove of information. And he had a lead to follow now. He would find William Crane. Had William sent the Nightmare? Another connection fell into place. Kate in the woods yesterday. “The Battle of the Gory Brook. They say so many were butchered that the brook ran red.” Was that the battle he had seen?
“Are you there?” Kate said, waving a hand in front of his face.
Jason nodded, blinking. “Sorry.”
They stood. Kate brushed away straw and pulled her boots on, wincing a little. “You better go. Before Red and his men get here.”
“I can’t leave you.”
“Better if you stay off their radar. I told you. And better if we don’t talk at school for a while. My dad will have them watching me after this. Go.” She pointed. “That way’s the aqueduct trail. Go straight and you’ll find it.” She kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry about nightmares. Dreams are just dreams.”
He left her. Gunsmoke came to the door as Jason passed, as if to express gratitude with a nod and a snort. Jason scratched the horse’s snout and walked on. He stared at his hands as he walked, crossing the gulley past the wreckage of Kate’s Porsche. How had he healed Gunsmoke? The healing power in his hands was frightening him now. He reached the tree line, took one last glance and saw a black SUV approaching. Kate was crossing the grass to meet it.
Kate.
His… Star-Maiden…
Jason shook his head. What had she said?
Dreams are just dreams…
After a long hike, Jason finally reached the house. He went up the back stairs and straight to Eliza’s bedroom. Why hadn’t he read her genealogy materials before? She’d worked on them for years. She’d gathered everything on the Cranes. She’d kept a thick file of computer printouts and handwritten notes, family trees and charts the size of an architect’s blueprints. She would have known all about William Crane. Probably had old Bill’s shoe size.
A seventeen like me, Jason thought, grinning. He opened a drawer of the filing cabinet.
It was empty.
What the hell?
All the cabinets were empty, except for a scattering of blank notebooks and an oddly pockmarked red stone.
Where are her files?
He bit his lip, worried. He threw aside the hidden panel in the bedroom wall, twisting the dial of the secret safe there. He dreaded what he’d find. If Hadewych had taken the genealogy files maybe he’d taken—
But Agathe’s diary lay inside the safe, untouched, next to the copy of Irving’s Sketch-Book of Geoffrey Crayon, a true first edition worth ten thousand dollars. Absalom Crane’s own copy, with his writing inside. Eliza had bought it from a museum, her last gift to her grandson. Agathe’s diary, which Jason had secretly taken from the Van Brunt tomb, was useless and blank—faded by time. Unreadable. Still, Jason feared it falling into Hadewych’s hands. On impulse he pressed his palm to the diary. Could he use his new power to make the words reappear? To restore the diary to legibility?
But nothing happened.
He frowned, puzzled. He left the Sketch-Book in the safe but carried the diary to the RV, hiding it behind the panel alongside the bunk. He changed out of his bloody clothes, feeling empty and confused, thinking of Carlos. He found a canister of table salt in a cabinet and laid a thick salt line across the garage doors. The Van Brunts could fend for themselves.
He heard a car in the drive and ran outside. Hadewych was crossing the yard, arms full of groceries. Jason closed the distance in a blur of motion, grabbing Hadewych’s arms, knocking the groceries onto the lawn.
“Did you send him?” Jason growled.
“Get off me!”
“Did you?”
Hadewych pulled away. “Send whom? I have no idea what you mean.”
“Of course you don’t.”
Hadewych scowled, knelt, and collected the spilled food. Expensive cuts of meat, a small jar of caviar, a bottle of cabernet. “If you’d tell me what this is about…”
“The Horseman. Did you send the Horseman after us last night?”
Hadewych looked up. “What happened?”
“He tried to kill me again.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Hadewych picked oranges from the grass. For a moment, Jason remembered the day of Eliza’s funeral. Hadewych had been kneeling then, too. Picking up scraps of the Brom letter after Valerie had torn it up. Jason had held a shovel in his hand. He could have killed Hadewych and ended all of this. But he would have gone to jail.
—and I’m not that kind of person.
“Don’t tell me I imagined it.” Jason said. “You answer me. Right now. Did you send him after us?”
“Who is this ‘us?’ Who was with you?”
Jason frowned. He didn’t want Kate involved. “A friend.”
“Who?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“If you have a witness for once—”
“I said it doesn’t matter.”
Hadewych rose, groceries retrieved. “Fine. If we’re finished here…”
“We are so not finished!” Jason cried. He blocked the front door but Hadewych brushed past and marched into the house.
Jason followed him to the kitchen. “Where’s Eliza’s research? I checked the cabinets in my room. All the genealogy files are missing.”
Hadewych dropped the groceries on the counter. “No idea.”
“The Crane file, the Pyncheon file, the Van Brunt file?”
“I don’t have them.”
“Then who does?”
“Maybe Zef—”
“Where are they? It’s important.”
Hadewych took the bottle of cabernet, perhaps to use as a weapon if necessary. He grabbed a plastic cup from a shelf. “If they’re so important, maybe you shouldn’t have left them unattended. Maybe you should be sleeping in your room.”
“If you’re trying to teach me a lesson, fine. Now give
them back.”
Hadewych’s voice sharpened. “I told you. I don’t have them.”
“I’ll look for myself.” Jason crossed the living room and climbed the stairs.
Hadewych followed. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Jason twisted the knob of Hadewych’s locked bedroom. “Open it up.”
“I will not. That is my private space.”
“It will only take a few minutes.”
“No.”
“Why? What’s in there?”
“None of your business.”
“This is my house.”
“Half yours. And half mine.”
“I want to know what you’re hiding.”
“I’m not unlocking my bedroom for you.”
Jason body-slammed the door.
Hadewych grinned. “You’ll just hurt yourself. That’s Van Brunt workmanship.”
Jason rubbed his shoulder. He felt deflated and tired. “Is the Treasure in there?” He tried to bring his emotions down a notch. “Hadewych, if you didn’t send the Horseman and you don’t know what he’s doing, then… anybody could be a target. Stop this. If you have the thing, let’s just get rid of it. Please. Let it go. Put it back in the tomb. Valerie was right about the Treasure. No good can come of it. I’ll give you as much of the Legacy as you want. It’s yours. Just stop this now. Before anyone else dies.”
Hadewych considered. “That sounds like entrapment. I have nothing to hide.”
Jason spread his hands. “Then unlock that door.”
Hadewych put the plastic cup between his teeth, like a small feedbag. He stuck the cabernet in his armpit. He took a key from his pocket. He turned it in the lock. Jason stepped forward but Hadewych darted into the room, quick as a cobra, and locked it before Jason could get a glimpse inside.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“The Hero of Gory Brook”
The line at the cashier’s window stretched endlessly ahead. Jason scowled at the back of the man in front of him, a burly fellow who smelled of gasoline. It was bad enough that the sanitation department had fined him a hundred and fifty bucks for losing his gear, now he had to spend his afternoon waiting in line to pay it.
He thumbed through the Gatewood Guide as he waited. Jason felt sure that William Crane, Ichabod’s father, would be the key to solving everything. But Eliza’s research was gone. Even the William Crane grave rubbing was missing from its envelope. Would it be possible to recreate Eliza’s research? Jason didn’t know where to begin.
The Gatewood Guide suggested town clerks, vital records, libraries, “primary sources” like wills and church records, “secondary records” like local histories… he had his own Gift to fall back on, if he could figure out which object to touch… He wondered where he should start.
“Next!”
Gasoline man stepped aside. Jason could barely see the face of the cashier through the scarred plastic window. He slipped his papers to her, along with Eliza’s MasterCard.
He had set the Gatewood Guide on the counter. The words in red hissed up at him: Sie Sterben an der Brücke… He flipped it face-down.
“Card’s declined,” said the cashier.
“Declined? But—”
“Do you have cash?”
“No.”
“Next!” the woman barked.
Jason tried to call Eliza’s bank on his cell but his cell phone account wasn’t working. He bummed change for a pay phone, startled that pay phones still existed, and after a few minutes inquiry discovered the truth of the matter: Hadewych had cancelled the MasterCard and the phone had been disconnected for non-payment. Jason stomped out, cursing to himself. Was Hadewych just careless or was he deliberately cutting off Jason’s options?
Jason could think of one source of information Mr. Gatewood didn’t know about. Hadewych’s room. Behind that locked door might be… anything. The files, evidence of crimes, the Horseman’s Treasure itself…
Jason had to get in.
He passed through the firehouse, saw a soda machine, and traded his last dollar for a Mountain Dew. He pressed the can to his forehead, cooling down. He popped it and leaned against the wall, feeling bleak. Nobody bothered him as he drank his soda. He watched the firemen come and go, watched them mess with their gear. He was about to leave when a familiar figure passed on the sidewalk. The sight of the man gave him a hell of an idea.
“Mike!” he called.
Mike Parson squinted. His red face lit up.
“Ichabod, hey!” he said, entering the firehouse and shaking Jason’s hand. “What can I do for you, Buddy?”
His smile was real. Fireman Mike was one of the few people in town who hadn’t treated Jason any differently since Halloween. The man was generally enthusiastic, like a golden retriever waiting for someone to throw a Frisbee.
“Can I ask a favor?” Jason said.
“Shoot.”
“Um, Christmas time is coming up.”
“Yeah.” Mike frowned. “Promise you won’t let your tree go dry?”
“Oh, I’ll be careful. I wanted to ask about lights.”
“Oh, tree lights are bad. Fifteen percent of home fires. We hate to see that.”
Jason tapped the side of a fire truck, “I was thinking house lights, and I was wondering: could you show me how to tie off a rope harness? I want to be safe on the ladder. Show me some knots so I don’t get myself killed?”
“Why the hell would I do that?” he said, but brightened and did exactly what Jason had hoped he would. He fished through a cabinet and came up with safety rope and full body rappelling gear. “You’re going to need a good harness, not some damn rope. Promise you’ll bring it back.”
“Absolutely. By when?”
“First week of January, I guess? After you take them down again. That should be cool.”
“You. Are. Awesome.” Jason turned to go.
“Whoa, buddy. Not so fast.” Mike snatched the gear away.
Jason froze, waiting for an interrogation. This had gone too smoothly.
“Lesson one,” said Mike, sticking his finger through a metal link. “This is what you call your carabiner. This is where the rope’s going to attach. Now the first thing you do is put your legs through here. Let’s get this thing on you.”
Jason climbed into the harness. A couple of the other firemen chimed in with safety tips, and by the end of the afternoon he felt ready to join the company.
Over the next two weeks, Jason watched all the Van Brunt comings and goings but saw no chance to attempt his break-in. If Hadewych went out, Zef stayed in—and vice versa. It was practically choreographed. The argument on the stairs had made Hadewych paranoid, probably. The man’s guard was up. Jason would have to wait until Hadewych got sloppy again.
He hid the rappelling gear behind a section of attic insulation… and waited.
Hadewych paced the living room. Today was the seventeenth of December. The waiting was driving him crazy. Every day he went to the mailbox and every day the RSVP was not there. What if it never came? His whole plan would be ruined. Jason’s money would slip through his fingers. Sure, he could siphon money off the accounts, but not that much. A little creative bookkeeping and he might be able to steal half a mil, maybe a full million. He was good at covering his tracks.
He ran his fingers through his hair. He was afraid of making mistakes though. For all his arrogance and cunning he was still a kid from the streets. Managing money was not in his DNA. What did he know, really, of trusts and dividends and hedge funds and the like? He’d grown up wondering about his next meal, not the next uptick of his preferred stock position or exchange trade fund. He was a former janitor managing a hundred and twelve million dollar fortune. He was, frankly, in a little over his head. If he could take the wound to his pride, he might be able to turn his ignorance to his advantage, use it as an excuse for letting funds just… disappear. But what about forensic accounting? Hard drives? Wire transfer records?
He plopped on the davenport, feeling
resentful that his schemes were taking so much effort. He wanted to sleep or watch sports. But he had to think about these contingencies. He had to have a backup plan.
He’d not been worried when the RSVP didn’t arrive right away. He hadn’t expected it to. But his anxiety had grown as the weeks crawled past and the RSVP didn’t appear in the mailbox. All the others came in on time. Hundreds of acceptances to the New Year’s Party at Stone Barns. But not the one he really cared about. Not the one he needed. If it never came, then he might as well have not thrown the party to begin with. Yes, it was marvelous to lord it over the banquet directors, make them jump through hoops, arranging hors d’oeuvres tastings and so forth. He’d enjoyed that. And, yes, the party would be good for Zef. Maybe even a milestone in his young life. Hadewych and Kate’s father had a little surprise planned for the kids.
But if… she… didn’t attend… well, then Hadewych might as well just shoot himself. He’d set his trap and if the mouse chose not to bite then he’d have to go hungry. The whole future of his family would be ruined.
He had just about convinced himself that his great scheme was a bust when the postman arrived. Hadewych ran outside. A green-bordered card lay in the box. He seized it. Her RSVP had come two days past the deadline but it had arrived at last. And it was an acceptance. Hadewych beamed with pleasure, seeing the little check mark in the “yes” column and the kiss of lipstick she’d signed it with. He turned a circle in the middle of the street, waving the RSVP over his head like a golden ticket.
I’ve got you now, bitch.
Jason enjoyed watching the conductor more than he enjoyed the music. The little man stood like Napoleon, one hand tucked into his jacket, the other herky-jerky and flailing about like a mechanical tin soldier with epilepsy. The singers in Joey’s choir didn’t even look at the man. They stared at the music and took their cues from each other.
Weeks ago, Jason had promised to attend Joey’s Christmas Concert at the Warner Library but now he desperately wished he’d begged off. The make-up work required to eke out a passing grade in the fall term had worn him to a nub. Now that school had ended for Winter Break he was ready for downtime, desperate to concentrate on finding William Crane. Besides, most of the concert was religious music.
Sleepy Hollow: Bridge of Bones Page 13