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

by Gleaves, Richard

  “Oh, sure. Mild precog. Risk officer for Zelig. That hedge fund DeRegt is with. They only hire us Gifted types. Lousy way to die.”

  “I didn’t realize you guards had Gifts.”

  “How could we not? We’d all be cursed.”

  “What can you do?”

  “Want to see?”

  “Your Gift? I thought this was a Dead Zone.”

  “For you, maybe. Not for us.”

  “Sure.”

  Bent-Ear Man grinned, screwed up his face, and, in slow motion—like a replay of a basketball dunk—jumped about six feet, just high enough to brush the dust from the moldings. He drifted back down and landed with a thud.

  Joey clapped. “That is cool.”

  “Not really.” Brian sat. “When I was your age it was a pain. I had no control, so my mom made me wear those ankle weights, you know? She pushed me to get fat, too, because I’d drift. Get all—”

  “Light in the loafers.”

  “Funny guy. She didn’t want me cursing anyone, so I used to stay home, especially on windy days.”

  “You’re making that up.”

  “Yeah. That last part was a joke.”

  “Now who’s funny?”

  “But you can see how it would suck, yeah? Some kids on my block saw me once.” He flicked his bent ear. “Did this.”

  “Weren’t they cursed?”

  He soured. “You’ll have way more friends if you learn not to ask that.”

  “Sorry,” said Joey. “Not my business.”

  “Anyways. My sister had the same problem. She used to wear this long leather coat when she needed some ballast. She’d fill her pockets with rocks.”

  “Is she here too?”

  He looked sad now. “She’s dead. Also murdered.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “They caught somebody, though. Heard they took him in yesterday. Maybe we’ll get out of here sooner rather than—”

  “Wait. What was her name?”

  The man’s walkie-talkie squawked. He held it to his mouth. “Yeah?” Someone on the other end spoke unintelligibly, like an adult in a Peanuts cartoon. “Understood.” Bent-Ear Man pulled out his weapon again. “Good talking, kid. Gotta go.”

  “Wait,” Joey blurted. “Was your sister named Debbie? Debbie Flight?”

  The guard shrugged. “Why? You know something?”

  “So Debbie Flight the realtor had a Gift.”

  “Sure,” he said, on his way out. “How do you think we got the name?”

  Jessica sank into a chair and blew on her coffee. “This had better be good.”

  Abby, Mather’s new head of security, sported a green Mohawk and a few dozen facial piercings. “Sorry to wake you, ma’am,” she said. “Mather told us you were authorized.”

  “And you’d rather wake me up than him. Okay. What is it?”

  “Company.” Abby gestured to the bank of monitors. “Someone came over the south fence. They pinged infrared.” She pointed to a yellow-green smear half-hidden behind a tree. “The rain’s keeping him cold, but there he is.”

  “A straggler? Late for the summons?”

  “Don’t know. He’s being sneaky. And—see the two red dots? His hands are hotter than the rest of him. Like they’re… on fire.”

  “Hadewych.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “My ex. He had to come eventually. Be careful. He’s got a fire Gift.”

  Abby raised her mic. “Be advised, intruder is bringing a present. Fire inside. Proceed with caution.”

  “‘Present?’”

  “Can’t say ‘Gift,’ ma’am, even secured.”

  “Of course. Is he in the Dead Zone yet?”

  “Not quite. They’ll hang back until he is, now that we know he’s Gifted.”

  They watched the monitors. A trio of light orange figures converged on the intruder, using the linden trees for cover.

  Jessica squinted. “Can we get a closer look?”

  “No, ma’am. The drones can’t fly in this weather.”

  “Damn. I want to see them shoot the bastard.”

  Abby raised an eyebrow. “Messy breakup?”

  “Don’t get smart.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. So you are authorizing a kill here?”

  “I guess. Don’t you have orders?”

  “Mather told us to shoot on sight.”

  “Then why wake me up?”

  “Sorry, but… one of our guys thinks it’s—”

  “What?”

  “A teenager.”

  “Hardly. Hadewych is at least—”

  Zef?

  Jessica broke off, listening to the telepathic voice.

  Zef, can you hear me? I’m outside! Are you there?

  “Ma’am?” Abby frowned up at Jessica.

  “Shh,” said Jessica, biting a fingernail.

  Zef? Can you answer? Is it safe to come in?

  Jessica sat quietly and sipped her coffee. She knew who was outside, trying to contact her son telepathically. Only Pyncheons can communicate with other Pyncheons, of course. Zef wouldn’t be able to hear the voice. He hadn’t been exempted from the Dead Zone yet. But she could hear. And now she had a decision to make.

  Her mind raced. She stood in front of a hundred and twelve million dollars in a pile ten feet high… and she held a burning match.

  Abby cleared her throat. “He’s moving, ma’am. He’s almost in the Dead Zone. When he enters, do we shoot?”

  She could order the guards to take down the intruder and feign dismay when his identity was revealed, or she could let him in and lose her inheritance. No one would know but her.

  She made her decision. “I want you to—”

  Zef? Kate’s with me. Can you hear? Kate’s with me!

  “We’ve got another ping, ma’am,” said Abby. “Sorry we didn’t see it before. Storm’s giving us glitches.”

  Jessica cursed inwardly. She pictured the pile of money again, thinking of all it could buy. She sighed, threw the match, and watched the Legacy burn.

  “Let them in,” she whispered.

  She rose before Abby could say a word. As she left the room, she began trembling from head to foot. She truly didn’t know what her decision would have been had the intruder been alone. Would she have ordered him shot down, or would her humanity have won out? Was she a monster or a moron?

  Better not to know. Neither was attractive.

  She passed a plastic pirate skeleton in the hallway. It clutched a hoard of fool’s gold to a heartless rib cage. She stopped, turned, and threw cold coffee into its grinning face.

  Joey found Valerie in the music room, sitting at the beautiful walnut Steinway. She’d been crying. He could tell. She wore wrinkled and mismatched clothes. The lid over the keys was shut, but her fingers pattered across the wood, as if playing some ghost-sonata.

  “How are you holding up?” Joey whispered.

  Valerie stopped not-playing and engaged her valve. “Three guesses.”

  “I’m sure it’s just some horrible mistake.”

  She turned away. “Change the subject, please.” She resumed her silent concert, eyes fixed on the music in front of her.

  Joey was about to tell her what he’d discovered from Bent-Ear Man—that Darley and Debbie Flight had been Gifted—but he thought better of it. Any talk of Debbie Flight was not a good idea.

  “If I had my Gift,” he said, “this place would be rubble.”

  Valerie beat the piano lid with both fists and straddled the bench like a drunk on a rail fence. “I should have left—Sleepy Hollow. Like I planned to.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Mike.”

  “Fireman Mike. So you guys are—”

  “I thought you knew. Are you shocked?”

  “I’m jealous. Mike’s a keeper. You go, Miss Valerie.”

  She smiled a little now. “He saved me from—that fire. And now he’s waiting—in some jail cell—for me to—save him back. And I’m—helpless.”
<
br />   “Everything will be—”

  “No. I can’t. I can’t talk.”

  She turned back to the music. Joey roamed the room. The ceiling bore painted images—women dancing in the night sky, trailing sashes and tresses—like the Sistine Chapel with all the men missing. He sank into an enormous chaise lounge, feeling like Jack in the giant’s house, listening to the rain beat against the ornate pocket doors behind his head.

  Was it my fault?

  He couldn’t keep the thought at bay any longer. He’d told Mather about Mike being possessed and killing Debbie. Did Mather get Mike arrested? As far as Joey knew, only he and Jason and Mather knew the truth. He squirmed, feeling miserable, hoping the police had targeted Mike on their own, and hoping that Valerie never discovered her lover’s involvement. She deserved to be happy.

  Valerie shuffled sheet music wistfully. “This is a beautiful Steinway. I wish I could play.”

  “Play then.”

  “People are sleeping.”

  “What are they going to do? Kick us out?”

  “Good point.” She chose a piece. “This one’s sweet. And not too loud. Variations on a Theme of Paganini. By Rachmaninoff.”

  “What’s with the Gifted and Rachmaninoff, anyway?” Joey was thinking of Valhalla Cemetery, of the plots of Sophia Usher and Dianne Crane, chosen for their proximity to the composer’s grave. “Was he one of us?”

  Valerie raised the piano lid. “Not that I know of. But Rachmaninoff is a—patron saint, for some. He was an exile. Separated from his home—by the Soviets. All he wanted—was to return to Russia. He never did. We Gifted are exiles too. Exiles from the human race. And all we want—is to return home. Here. Listen.”

  A lush theme filled the room with gentle melancholy. A song of exile and homecoming, of soldiers returning to sweethearts, of parents recovering lost children. A song of sisters and brothers reunited against impossible odds and of friends clasping hands despite distance or death. It gave Joey a lump in his throat, and he fought off tears.

  The next moment didn’t help. Valerie stopped playing and sat up straight. Joey turned and followed her gaze. In the doorway, bedraggled and wet and needing a shave…

  … stood Jason.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  “Reunions”

  Joey rose, surprised that his knees obeyed. He crossed the distance, tentatively, until he stood face to face with his long-missing friend.

  “Hey, you son of a bitch,” he whispered.

  Jason gave a nod. “Nice to see you too, asshole.”

  They broke into identical grins. Jason threw his arms around Joey’s neck, laughing, crying, squeezing too hard. Joey mussed Jason’s hair and planted a big kiss on his cheek.

  Kate appeared in the doorway. “Joey Osorio! Always kissing my men!”

  Joey let out a squeal and hugged her.

  “Kate?” someone called. Zef ran down the hallway, arms out, but he stopped short, hesitating. “It is you, right?”

  “Yeah,” she whispered, looking pained. “It’s me.”

  Zef let out a laugh and scooped her up, turning a circle with Kate in his arms. He let her down and they kissed each other, just as they used to. The kiss went on a little… too long.

  “Ahem,” said Joey. “Who’s kissing whose men?”

  “I saw him first,” said Kate. “And you did kiss Jason.”

  Zef scowled. “Joey kissed Jason?”

  “He sure did,” said Jason, wiping his mouth. “Right on the lips.”

  “On the cheek!” said Joey, blushing and rolling his eyes.

  Jason shuddered. “And with tongue.”

  “You wish!” said Joey.

  “It saw him do it, Zef,” said Kate. “You should dump his cheating ass.”

  “But—But—” Joey sputtered. “Zef kissed Jason once.”

  “No. No. No.” Jason raised a palm. “Zef tried to.”

  Zef tagged Jason in the shoulder. “You told him about that?”

  “Ow! Yeah, but I never told Kate. D’oh! Busted!”

  Kate shook her head. “I am such a fag hag.”

  “Here you go, man.” Jason kissed Zef’s cheek. “Kissing cousins.”

  “Yuck!” said Zef, wiping the spot. “Straight boy cooties.”

  Joey counted on his fingers. “But if I kissed Jason and Jason kissed Zef and Zef kissed Kate and Kate kissed Jason… that makes us all even now, right?”

  Valerie raised a hand. “Can I get in on—the kissing action?”

  Jason kissed her cheek, and she fanned herself like a southern belle.

  “Kisses for everyone!” shouted Joey. “Only one perverted combination left, but I’m willing to take a hit for the team.” He seized his victim and bent her backward. “In the words of Shakespeare and Cole Porter, come on and kiss me, Kate!”

  He smothered Kate with smooches, and the whole group fell into laughs of relief and release.

  “Back away!” Mather stood on the steps, cinching his purple robe. Two security men appeared, weapons high, trailed by Jessica.

  “It’s me!” Kate said, holding up her hands. “It’s only me.”

  “Agathe’s been driven out,” said Jason. “Valerie—tell them. Kate’s wearing your talisman.”

  Valerie nodded. “She should be fine. Just don’t take it off.”

  Kate touched the talisman. “No way in hell.”

  Mather relaxed. “Then… welcome home, Miss Usher. How did you find us?”

  “I know procedure. I figured you’d be in quarantine. And Jason knew where.”

  Jason stepped forward. “Hadewych kept saying ‘Lyndhurst,’ over and over.”

  Mather accepted this. “Have you spoken to your father?”

  “Not yet,” said Kate.

  “Let’s call Boston, then.”

  “He’s… on the trail?”

  “The election is in three weeks.”

  “I just imagined… he’d be here. Looking for me.”

  Mather stuck his hands in his pockets. “Your father has been desperately worried. You’ll see. Change into some dry things. We’ll wake him up.” Mather and the guards turned and left.

  “Welcome home, dear,” said Jessica. She patted Kate’s shoulder. “You can have my room. And I might have something to fit you.” Jessica turned away, not giving Jason so much as a nod. Kate kissed each of the boys in turn—Joey noticed that Jason got a little more than Zef had—and followed Jessica upstairs.

  Jason watched Kate go, but turned once she’d disappeared. “Zef, you got a second?”

  “What?”

  “In private?”

  “I don’t have secrets from Joey.”

  Jason sighed. “Well, that’s new. I need to ask. Hadewych said you were working with them?”

  “He’s not,” said Joey.

  “Agathe thought so.”

  “Then my dad didn’t tell her I bailed?” Zef held up a palm. “I was trying to get behind enemy lines.”

  Valerie patted Zef’s shoulder. “You’re lucky you—got out of there—with your life.”

  Zef shrugged her off. “Yeah, well. It’s good to know you care, Valerie.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. Leave me alone, please.”

  Valerie’s eyes narrowed. “Could I get a moment—with Zef?”

  “Uh, sure.” Jason and Joey backed out of the room, sensing trouble, and closed the doors behind them.

  “What was that about?” said Joey.

  “No idea.”

  “You look like hell, Jase.” He led him down the hall. “Come on. I’ll give you a makeover.”

  “Wow. That’s utterly terrifying.”

  “So’s your stench, Pepé Le Pew.”

  Jason flicked Joey’s ear. Joey gave Jason a shove. They shadowboxed. They traded insults.

  And all was right with the world.

  Valerie led Zef to the oversized sofa. They sat, not looking at each other. When had she and
Zef last been alone? It had been almost a year, hadn’t it? After Hadewych’s betrayals, Valerie and the boy she’d once considered her son had been separated with hardly a fare-thee-well.

  “Of course I care,” she said finally. “I’ve always cared.”

  “Right,” Zef whispered.

  They sat in silence. Valerie searched Zef’s face. His brow furrowed. He stared at the carpet. She reached for him, but he flinched.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Jason’s back. Kate’s back. Aren’t you happy?”

  “Of course I am. Too bad it was all my fault.”

  “Yours?”

  “I didn’t stop my dad, did I? When I had the chance. Nobody stops him. Nobody ever stops him.” He gave an ugly chuckle. “You don’t get it, do you? You have no idea why I’m pissed at you. Still pissed at you.”

  She kept her voice low and soothing. “Because—I hid my Gift?”

  “No,” said Zef. “I’m used to that by now. Jason. Kate. Joey. My mom. My dad. Paul. What’s one more? It’s like—surprise! The world’s nothing like you thought. Everybody’s got a superpower.”

  “There’s not—so many of us, really. Just feels that way. It’s always like this. You find out about yourself—and a different world—pulls you in. Like a tar pit.”

  “That’s pleasant.”

  “You hide from normals—a little more, every day. Soon—you hardly know a soul—outside our circle. Everyone around you is—”

  “A liar?”

  “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I’ve betrayed you.” Valerie reached for him once more. This time he pulled away, stood, and paced the room.

  “Haven’t you? You were my… you know…”

  “Your mom?” she asked, hopefully.

  “My whatever. My dad’s whatever. And you were hiding the most important thing about yourself. For ten years.”

  “I could say the same—about you.”

  “Oh, come on. You knew.”

  “Yes. But I kept your secret. I saw—how you were.”

  “How was I?”

  “Tormented.”

  He turned his face away. “Did it show? What I was? Am?”

  “No. But the cards never lie.”

  He balled his fists. “God. Shut up about your stupid cards. I’m sick to death of you and your stupid cards. Tarot’s your answer to everything. Zef flunks chemistry, let’s do a Celtic Cross. Zef skins his knee, Mercury must be in retrograde.”