She cleared the alley and found herself on King Street again. She moved right and hoped that the thing wouldn’t follow her onto one of Leesburg’s main streets. But the horse never slowed, instead raced after her. She looked behind her to see the horse rear up again and, impossibly, a jet of flame shoot in the air.
It’s a nightmare, she thought. This must be a dream.
It’s no dream, Kit, her brother’s voice came again. Move!
But looking back proved to be a mistake, possibly the last one she would ever make. As she turned to face forward again, her feet stumbled over a curb. Her right foot landed awkwardly on the street and bent the wrong direction. She heard a sickening crack and barely managed to stay on her feet. But the damage was done. As she tried to keep running, her right foot shot a spike of pain up her leg when she landed on it. This time she didn’t keep her balance and instead fell to the ground.
Maggie lay in the middle of the road and looked back at her attacker. The horse, far from running, now seemed to take its time approaching her, trotting slowly in her direction. The thing on top of it smiled and Maggie thought it was possibly the worst thing she had seen in her life.
“A school teacher, how fitting,” the thing said. “My old teacher was the first person I killed. I dare say he had it coming—he was a terrible person, used to beat any boy silly for so much as looking cross-eyed. But I have to admit, I’ve always enjoyed killing teachers after that.”
Maggie opened her mouth to reply but no words came out. She was struck by the sheer unreality of what was happening to her.
“What?” the thing said. “No protestations, a little begging perhaps? The last one tried to pay us off, did you know that?”
She didn’t respond. She thought she had understood the meaning of the word “speechless,” but only now did she truly grasp it. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, maybe even beg, but nothing came. She lay there waiting for the inevitable.
The thing brandished the sword in front of it, waving it around with the air of practice and experience.
“This isn’t my usual weapon, you know,” it said, and Maggie had the urge to cover her ears. “But it is his weapon. When in Rome…”
The horse leapt forward then, closing the distance between them in a few rapid strides. She saw the sword aimed at her neck. She lay there, unable to move, watching as this thing moved toward her to end her life.
*****
Maggie never saw what saved her.
Her eyes were focused only on the sword coming down at her. One minute the horse was charging straight at her and then there was an explosion of fire nearby. The horse, instead of completing its deadly mission, suddenly veered off course.
Maggie started to stand up, forgetting for a moment what had made her fall. But the pain in her right foot was so bad she stumbled again. She struggled to make sense of what was happening around her.
There were now two horses in the street. Her attacker was just turning around when the second horse and rider plunged in for the attack. The motion was frenzied, nearly blurred, but Maggie heard steel on steel as both horses and riders fought one another. She watched with her eyes wide as the horses became inter-tangled, trying desperately to bite each other. The riders were also locked together, swords clashing, each trying to get an advantage.
It was unclear which one was winning until she saw the new rider gain leverage over her attacker and give him a shove that knocked him off his horse. The thing that had pursued her went sprawling in the dirt. If she was under any illusion it was defeated, however, that was quickly corrected. The thing stood up, brushed itself off, and smiled.
She heard laughter—a terrible laugh that would haunt her dreams for the next year—but she didn’t think it came from the thing in front of her.
Instead she saw it look in her direction, as if it had only just remembered she was there. He smiled and Maggie barely fought down the urge to scream.
Get the woman out of there, a voice in her head said, but she knew it wasn’t talking to her.
She never saw the second horse start riding toward her, only felt a rough hand reach down and grab her. With inhuman speed and strength, it placed her on the back of the horse, riding behind him. Maggie paid no attention to her savior, but instead watched as her attacker faded into the distance. The last she saw of him, he was moving to get back on his horse.
“He’s coming after us,” she said to her rescuer.
Only then did she realize who it was.
She had been so relieved to be saved, she had never taken a good look at who the other rider was. But the figure in front of her—around whom she had her arms locked tightly—was no hero. His coat was old and frayed. He rode forward with speed and fury, but had no head to guide him. She was riding behind the Headless Horseman. Maggie screamed again.
We mean you no harm, a voice in her head said, and she was surprised to hear it still sounded like her brother. Hold on tight. We have to get you as far away from him as possible.
She was scared, more terrified than she had been in her entire life, but she held on nonetheless. She was now nearly as frightened of the thing in front of her as what she had left behind, but if he had wanted her dead, he could have already accomplished that.
We will take you home, the voice said again. But first we have to make sure we lose him.
She nodded her head. The Headless Horseman used no path she knew. It rode through the streets of Leesburg, then suddenly across a field and plunged into a forest. If she had to guess, she would assume they had headed west where the city of Leesburg gave way to farmland and old Virginia woods.
What was that? she asked in her mind. She wasn’t sure it would work or if she had lost her mind. How could something be communicating with her this way?
But her brother’s voice answered her.
An imposter, he said. Someone who wants to pretend it’s us. It killed the banker last week and was hoping to murder you too.
Why? she thought.
To get our attention, her brother replied.
Why do you sound like my brother? she finally asked.
I needed to use the voice of someone you trusted, he replied. I wanted you to think it was a voice inside of you or I worried you wouldn’t listen to it.
And you think I trust my brother? Maggie replied. You obviously don’t know him very well.
There was a note of wry amusement in the response, which now sounded like a woman instead of her brother Brian.
Fair enough, the voice replied.
As they talked, the Headless Horseman continued to race through the woods. At this speed, she didn’t know how he could avoid all the obstacles in his path, but he moved so smoothly Maggie was never scared—of the ride, at least. The rider still worried her.
We need you to do something for us, the voice said again.
You saved my life, she replied. What do you need?
We need you to call the police as soon as you get home, the voice said. We need you to tell them everything.
Even about you?
Especially about us, the voice said. Give them a message too. Tell them we didn’t kill Robertson.
Who’s Robertson?
The banker your attacker killed, the voice said.
Who are you? She asked.
We are the Prince of Sanheim, the voice responded and this time she felt sure it wasn’t just a woman’s voice, but a man too.
And who is the other one? The one who attacked me?
With a start, she felt the Headless Horseman slow down. She realized it had emerged from the woods, possibly several minutes ago. It now stood in front of her house. Before she could move, she felt the Horseman reach around her, grab her by the coat, and lift her to the ground in a smooth motion.
“Thank you,” she said out loud.
She couldn’t be sure since he lacked a head but she felt like the Horseman nodded ever so slightly. She started to walk to her door, only for her foot to give out again. She had fo
rgotten about it during the ride but the second she was on the ground the pain was nearly unbearable. She limped painfully to her door and turned around only when her surprised husband opened it.
She watched the Headless Horseman turn and move down the street.
You didn’t answer me, she thought again, uncertain if she could even be heard. What was that thing that attacked me?
A dead man, the voice came back. When we find him again, you can rest assured of that.
And that laugh—that terrible laugh—echoed again down the street and through the night.
You may wonder why I put all this to paper.
Why should I, Robert Crowley, help my fellow Princes of Sanheim? Am I just contributing to my own destruction? Wouldn’t it be better for me to horde my wealth of knowledge like some miser in a dirty hole, hoping it may give me the advantage I need to survive?
But my friends, I am not your enemy.
There is another who has manipulated us, haunted us, cursed us. He has turned us against one another while he watches, chuckling at his own amusement. He set this damnable cycle in motion—and only by understanding this can we truly be free.
Some of you may already know Sanheim, Lord of the Dead. You might have seen him in your dreams. Others have heard only whispers and rumors of his dark deeds.
With no shame, I tell you that Sanheim has stalked my nightmares since I was a child. Even before I could walk, Fara warned me of him.
Sanheim is an angry, jealous deity. I don’t understand why he granted us some of his power. All I know is that since the Bear’s time, he has been fighting to take it back. And he has been playing us for fools in the process.
The Bear believed that this world was all that mattered and he was content to let his domination end there. T’Noughn, the Serpent, didn’t have time to worry about such things.
But the Spider was different. He knew the true stakes of the game. Just one cycle after T’Noughn killed the Bear, the Spider defeated his cennad and began planning. It took him only three years, feeding in the dark off warriors and maidens who crossed his path. When he confronted the Serpent, it was no contest.
But the Spider didn’t stop there. He ruled the tribe, plotting and hunting the two Princes who came after him, adding their power to his own. And after more than a century had passed, the Spider amassed his strength… and vanished.
No official history can say where he went, but I know.
He challenged Sanheim himself. He battled for the Land of the Dead.
—Robert Crowley, 1871
Chapter 15
September 27, 2007
Kate waited in the cemetery for the Horseman to arrive. She was worried. Not about his safety—of that, there was never much doubt. What bothered her was how close tonight’s events had been.
Even at full tilt, the Horseman had arrived only just in time. He had been making his now nightly ride through the county when Kate sensed—rather than heard—someone in a panic. Like it had been with Lord Halloween and the graffiti artist, Kate could see the woman’s thoughts, which were filled with terror while being pursued by a horse. The Headless Horseman had rushed to help.
If he hadn’t thought to throw the flaming pumpkin, it would have been too late. As it was, they had only accomplished half of their mission. The woman was saved, avoiding another murder that would be tied around their neck.
But the mystery of who was attacking them only deepened. Kate had initially assumed the horse was borrowed or stolen—a real horse, in other words, taken from a stable nearby.
But that assumption had proven incorrect. A real horse would have fled from the Headless Horseman, of that she was certain. Which meant… what, exactly? As for the rider, she had only a faint glimpse of him. The Horseman had been locked in combat and she had been focused primarily on helping the woman.
The Horseman was still riding through Leesburg in the hopes of finding some trace or clue to their enemy’s location. But so far, there was nothing.
She walked among the gravestones in Union Cemetery, frustrated and angry.
They had been keeping watch every evening for the past week, ever since they discovered another Prince of Sanheim was out there. That and reading, of course—trying to learn as much about the history of those who had come before them as possible.
She heard a horse coming toward her. A minute later, it came pounding into view and stopped next to her, kicking up dirt and clay as he did so. The Horseman dismounted easily and came toward her, grabbing her by the waist.
This would be easier, my love, if you had a head to kiss me with, she thought.
The Headless Horseman changed then. The horse faded from view gradually until it disappeared. The Horseman shimmered for a moment and then was gone.
In his place stood Quinn, who looked momentarily disoriented. He glanced around the cemetery as if unsure where he was or how he got there. It was always this way when the transformation happened. Kate didn’t know exactly where the Horseman ended and Quinn began, or vice versa.
“Give me a minute,” he said.
For all his confusion, she had to admit she was more than a little envious. His powers had such a definable form, whereas hers… She was still just Kate Tassel. She had no idea what she was capable of—and what she was supposed to be. She now wished she had a cennad—a physical form that embodied her fears. Maybe if she had been tested, like Quinn, she would at least know what she was.
“Be careful what you wish for,” Quinn said, and looked at her with his stunning blue eyes.
He was the same old Quinn, and yet… she sensed something different about him. If the Headless Horseman retained some of Quinn’s memories, she wondered if the fictional phantom was beginning to rub off on the man himself. Immediately after he transformed back, he seemed darker somehow, more dangerous. His voice was even huskier, more guttural. She had a feeling that if he walked into a bar right now, most men would instinctively give him a wide berth. Women, on the other hand… Kate thought the new look made him seem even sexier.
She stepped forward and kissed him.
“You seem angry,” she said when they pulled apart.
“I almost had them,” he said.
“So you agree it was two of them?” Kate said. The Prince of Sanheim was always two people. But with Quinn, he was the horse and Horseman simultaneously. She hadn’t been sure but she didn’t think that was the case with their enemy tonight.
“Any normal horse would have fled,” he replied. “One of them was the rider and the other was the horse.”
“Interesting,” she said. “Are you sure? Maybe they are like you and can be the horse and rider at the same time.”
The two walked through the cemetery. October was nearly here and it was cold outside. Fallen leaves swirled around them as the wind blew. Neither one of them felt cold, though. It was as if this was their natural environment.
“No,” Quinn said. “We are a single unit in two parts. That was how Washington Irving saw us—and it’s how I created the cennad. We’re linked. The ones I fought… I don’t think it was the same. They felt different.”
“Is that a weakness or advantage?”
“Weakness,” Quinn replied immediately. “We move in tandem, the horse and the rider. They seemed… divided.”
“Fascinating,” Kate replied.
He had learned more than she had initially supposed. Facing another Prince of Sanheim was daunting. Like them, it would be a man and woman united in body, mind and soul—both presumably able to take a form of something that haunted the dreams of men.
But what form? And which was which?
“The man was the rider,” Quinn said, reading her thoughts. “I’m sure of it.”
“Looks can be deceiving, my love,” she said.
“I sensed it,” he said. “I don’t know how else to explain it.”
“So she’s a horse?” Kate said, sounding disappointed. “How pedestrian.”
“We don’t know that,” Quinn re
plied. “All we know is that’s one of her forms. She may not be limited to one.”
“You are.”
“But you aren’t,” he said. “Last year, when you faced Lord Halloween, you took the form of your mother, remember?”
“And for all we know, it was a one-time thing,” she said. “Or maybe I can only turn into my mother, did you think of that? I bet Freud would have a field day with that one.”
“It would be worse if you could only turn into your father.”
“Good point.”
“My point is I doubt that’s your only transformation,” he said. “I think the Prince of Sanheim is more conceptual than that.”
“As for the rider…”
She let the words hang out there.
“I don’t know,” Quinn said, and the frustration was obvious in his tone of voice. “Everything went so fast. I was more worried about his sword and stopping him from killing that woman. I know this: he’s arrogant, stubborn and cocky. He thinks he was playing with me.”
“You knocked him off his horse,” she said. “He might not think so next time.”
“No, he will,” Quinn replied. “It was a game to him. The woman was a plaything to him. Just a bait to anger us in death or draw us out in life. It was all the same to him, either way.”
“What’s his agenda, I wonder?”
“I think it’s pretty apparent—he wants to kill us,” Quinn said.
“Crowley’s book makes it quite clear that any person who defeats his cennad then faces the previous Prince of Sanheim. What was it he said? ‘Neither can claim the true title of the God of the Dead while the other is living or unbowed.’”
“Right,” Quinn said. “So we’re facing the previous Prince of Sanheim.”
“Or the one before that, Quinn. You keep discounting that possibility. This appears to be a survival of the fittest kind of thing. This Prince could have been around for more than a hundred years.”
“He can’t go back too far—whatever happened to Crowley, he didn’t get knocked off by some horse-woman.”
“We don’t know what got him, so it’s best not to make assumptions,” Kate replied. But she didn’t think he was wrong.
Band of Demons (The Sanheim Chronicles Book 2) Page 14
