Hollowed: Return to Sleepy Hollow, the Complete Duology

by Candace Wondrak

  “Close your eyes,” Crane instructed, and I shut them. He brought the towel to my face, softly rubbing the warm, wet fabric around my right eye. “You will be staying here tonight.” Not an offer, not a question, but a command. It was one I would listen to. I didn’t feel safe anywhere I went…but with Crane?

  I wasn’t sure how I felt with Crane.

  As he moved to clean the other eye and my cheek, I muttered, “When I came back into myself, I couldn’t see for a few moments.”

  Crane took the towel off my face for a few seconds, and through mostly-closed lids, I was able to see a concerned, anxious expression on his elegant face. “You had momentary blindness?” he asked, and I nodded, feeling his other hand gently grip my chin to hold me still as he continued cleaning my face. “Your father never experienced any similar symptoms, although he couldn’t cross over like you can. How long were you there?”

  I shrugged. “Five minutes, maybe.”

  “That is a while, I would think.”

  He no longer dabbed at my face, and I heard him set the bowl down on the floor. I kept my eyes closed, mostly because I was sad about it all. I didn’t want to be the key to anything. Opening the veil, closing the veil—I didn’t want to do shit to the veil. I just wanted to take care of my dad’s stuff, have his funeral, and leave Sleepy Hollow.

  Leaving Sleepy Hollow seemed further out of reach as the hours ticked by.

  “Are you done?” I asked quietly.

  “I am, I’m sorry,” Crane’s voice came quickly, and as I slowly opened my eyes, I found he stared at me. “You’re just…” He adjusted his glasses again, a light pink color in his cheeks. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, so much so that it’s hard for me to look at you sometimes, knowing that I…”

  The men of Sleepy Hollow were hot and cold. They’d shower me with compliments one moment and leave me in a rage the next. Still, I wanted to know what he was going to say. “That you what?”

  His hands rested on his lap, folded over each other in a way that spelled refined. “I can never have you.”

  I could only stare at him.

  “I was never here during the summers when you were here, and I hated it, though when I was younger, I didn’t know why,” Crane spoke. He was a few years older than me, but not much. Just under thirty, I’d say. “All those years, when my parents would drag us to warmer climates, when I should’ve been having fun in the sun and all of that, I was lost. My heart remained in Sleepy Hollow, but it wasn’t until your father found me and started working with me that I knew why. One day he showed me a picture of you. It was an old picture, but even then, I recognized you.”

  What he was saying…it sounded remarkably close to what Bones had said. He’d always liked me. Crane was saying he’d liked me too, even before knowing me? Even before meeting me? How was that possible?

  This was Sleepy Hollow. The realm of possibility was much larger here than it was anywhere else.

  “I’ve been dying to meet you ever since,” Crane admitted, his gaze falling to his lap, acting sheepish, ashamed for admitting these things to me. “I only wish it didn’t take your father’s death.”

  I lifted a hand, reaching for him, all the while not knowing what I was doing but doing it anyway. I touched his face, his cheek, drawing my fingers down his gaunt cheekbone and along his jaw.

  Why the hell was I touching him? I shouldn’t be. This was the stranger that I threatened with a frying pan not too long ago. Crane was not my type—at least, before now, I didn’t think he was my type. Now…now I was starting to wonder if I had more than one type.

  Two types.

  Bones and Crane.

  My heart was heavy in my chest, and a part of me wanted to lean into Crane, to latch onto him and have him tell me everything was going to be alright, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I dropped my hand from his face, breaking away from his green-eyed stare and muttering, “I’m tired.”

  Crane coughed. “Of course. Let me take you to one of the guest rooms.”

  I got up, feeling a bit wobbly but able to walk on my own. We left the bowl and the small towel on the floor as we headed up the steps. Crane brought me to the third floor, to a bedroom with vaulted ceilings and rich, mahogany-carved furniture. I immediately went towards the bed, but Crane hung on the doorframe.

  “It’s right next to my room, so if something does happen, do not hesitate to shout for me,” he said. “Sleep means nothing to me, not when you’re distressed.” Crane talked like someone out of a different time period half of the time, but nonetheless, his words made me feel comforted.

  I crawled into the bed after taking off my boots, tossing him a look before I laid down. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  Through the darkness, he gave me a small smile. Crane’s smiles were not overly eager, nor were they particularly confident. His smile didn’t have the dimples behind it to back it up, and yet I found myself drawn to his lips anyway.

  “Anything for you,” he spoke, pausing a moment, his stare lingering on me for a few seconds before he padded off to his own room.

  I sunk in the sheets, resting my head on the large, fluffy pillow under me. I pulled up the sheets to my neck, feeling the strange need to be wrapped in these blankets like a cocoon. I also wanted Crane in here with me, in the same bed as me. Tonight, I didn’t want to be alone, but I was.

  I was alone, and even though I told myself history was not going to repeat itself for me, it was. I had feelings for Bones, that much was obvious—but similar feelings had begun to bud for Crane, too.

  Just like the original Katrina Van Tassel, I was stuck between two men. Well, technically, two men and a Headless Horseman, not to mention a crazy-looking spirit woman who may or may not want to possess me, but I was choosing not to include the latter two in my equation. It made me feel a little better.

  Chapter Nine

  I was slow to open my eyes, spotting the white sky above me. This…was it the otherworld? I sat up, my hands clutching two handfuls of green grass. No, it couldn’t be. A big yellow ball sat in the sky, the sun. I was confused though, because there was a haze between the sun and the ground, almost like all of its light couldn’t get through.

  As I got to my feet, I had the vaguest memory of running through a field like this before…only last time it wasn’t covered in bodies. Corpses were strewn all around me, their bodies torn with bullet holes. Each and every body wore the same uniform, all of them men.

  I took a step forward, the white dress I wore swaying in the breeze that carried the stale air up to my nostrils. No, I took that back. Not all of them were men. Some were no more than boys, twelve years old, at the most.

  This was the cold, hard, ugly truth of war. A war that was held years ago. Centuries. A war that knew no modern guns but muskets and cannons. The carnage was almost too much. I didn’t want to look at it. Some girls were fascinated with death and swooned over those serial killer documentaries on Netflix, but I was not one of them.

  I hated death. I hated the blood. And, above all else, I hated how the air reeked with the smell of rotting flesh and maggots.

  I recognized the field we were in. It was one in Sleepy Hollow, just off the square, where the old-timey shops were. It was where war reenactments were held during the summer, apparently right over the buried bones of these people.

  Something took hold of my heart, squeezing it, refusing to let it beat naturally, and I turned my head, spotting someone else standing in the field, amongst the bodies. My breath caught in my throat. It was him.

  The Headless Horseman.

  He stood, at least fifty feet away, his wide, impressive chest rising and falling with breaths he should not be able to take. His gloved hands were fisted at his sides, and for a while, we were both frozen, both staring at each other. I mean, I assumed he stared at me. Kind of difficult to tell when he had no head and no eyes.

  His right hand slowly extended, his fingers suddenly grasping the handle of a shimmering, reddish ax. I
n one swift movement, he jerked the ax down, severing the head of the nearest corpse. Still clutching the ax in one hand, he used his other to pick up the head and throw it at me.

  The head rolled against my feet, and I leaped back, feeling the need to vomit. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, but I think a bleeding head might’ve been better. This one, a middle-aged man with a long, greying beard, was full of crawling maggots in his eyes and nose, not to mention the wriggling things in his mouth… The skin was black and blue, and I gagged.

  No. No, no, no.

  I looked up, frowning, realizing that the Headless Horseman had started to come closer, his huge body hulking like a giant. He still held onto his ax, and before I knew what I was doing, I turned, sprinting away.

  I would not let him reach me. I would not let him get to me. I wouldn’t—

  I needn’t have bothered to try, apparently, because suddenly he was in front of me, and I skidded to a halt, mere inches away from his chest. This was not going to end well for me. Sheer panic set in, and as I tried to turn away to try to run again, he grabbed my wrist, stopping me.

  Why did he have to be so strong? Why was he always there? Why couldn’t he just let me go?

  “I’m sorry,” I said, crying out as he dragged me closer, his grip on my wrist too hard. So tight it cut off the circulation in my hand. I couldn’t escape him, and even when I dug my feet into the ground, I couldn’t stop him from pulling me back to him.

  Somehow he’d gotten another head, and as he held my wrist with a grip so strong it could break bones, he shoved the newly severed head in my face.

  I winced, looking away from the dried-up eyes of the head, but the Headless Horseman yanked on my wrist, wanting me to look at it. Why? Why torture me like this? Why not just end it here and kill me?

  He must’ve been angry, for he threw down the head, released my wrist and grabbed my head with a force that threatened to crush my skull. His hands were large, his gloved fingers nearly encircling my entire skull. His impossibly wide chest heaved with a rage-filled breath, and I was lost. I didn’t know what to do.

  Was this it? Was I going to die right now, in the hands of the Headless Horseman? I didn’t want to die.

  Just when I started to wonder what death was going to feel like, the force around my head lifted, and he moved a hand down my neck, trailing his well-beaten leather glove to my chest, pointing…at me?

  My heart threatened to burst. Was he…trying to communicate with me?

  The hand whose finger touched my chest, directly above the area where my heart was, sluggishly moved off, and then he pointed to himself. Tap, tap, tap, he kept pressing his finger against his chest, as if I’d understand what he was trying to say.

  “I don’t…” My words came out in a rush, and I glanced up, temporarily forgetting who was before me. Headless. No eyes to gaze up in. No head to see what expression he wore. Nothing to help me tell whether he was angry at me or what. Angry, or pleading, or desperate.

  The world around us grew brighter, the sky suddenly changing and becoming blue. The sun’s rays intensified, and I squinted, feeling the strange sensation of disappearing. The Headless Horseman grabbed my arm, trying to stop me from going, but even his iron grip couldn’t stop me from waking up from the dream.

  A dream.

  It was all a dream.

  A dream in the otherworld? I’d have to ask Crane about it.

  I blinked my eyes open and was greeted with sunlight streaming through the windows on the other side of the room. Despite how freaky that dream was, I actually felt refreshed. I rolled out of bed, stretching. Leaving my boots at the base of the bed, I tiptoed toward the bedroom next door, figuring Crane was still asleep since I didn’t hear any other noises in the house.

  Crane slept in a king-sized bed, his arms splayed out on the pillow beside his head. His glasses sat on the nightstand, and as I crept closer, being as quiet as I could, I found myself smiling. His brown hair was even messier than it was last night, his mouth open just a bit. No snoring, which was good.

  Not sure why I thought it was good, because I wasn’t going to ever spend the night with him, but…

  All of my thoughts trailed off as I moved to the edge of the bed, gazing down at him, a softness in my heart. Almost as if I cared for him—which was crazy. I didn’t care for him. The feelings his words and closeness had stirred in me last night were…in no way real.

  There was no way I could’ve fallen for a guy as strange as Crane so fast. No fucking way. Unless magic was involved, I couldn’t like him…

  I didn’t.

  I wouldn’t.

  I…I did.

  Moving until I sat on the bed, I stretched a hand out towards his sleeping figure, hesitating but needing to touch him. An innate pull towards him, something I couldn’t fight. His face was a bit prickly with stubble, but beyond that, Crane was perfect. A pale, perfect, slightly kooky sleeping angel.

  I leaned my head closer, my auburn hair draping down off my shoulders. My fingertips touched his chin, all of my focus on his mouth. What did I come in here for? Why was I practically crawling on top of him like he was mine to have whenever I wanted? I couldn’t wake him up with a kiss…but holy hell, did I want to.

  Would it be so bad, though, if I did? Would he freak out and slap me in the face?

  My head was less than five inches from his, my hand on his neck when his emerald gaze peeked open. I had no idea how good his vision was without his glasses, and I stumbled over excuses in my head, wondering how the hell I was going to play this one off.

  I shouldn’t have worried so much.

  Crane lifted his head up to mine, finding my mouth with ease. His kiss was a slow one, tentative and unsure at first. He moaned a bit into the kiss, and when his hands found my back, I let him pull me down towards him completely. Somehow my body wound up under the sheets, on top of his.

  His hands tangled in my hair, tugging gently as his kisses grew to be more fervent, hungrier, more eager. I straddled him, feeling an erection pressing against me between my legs. My hips dug against it, rubbing my jeans over his boxers. He was, I realized as I trailed my hands down his chest, shirtless. Crane was lean, but he wasn’t without muscles. He wasn’t nearly as lanky as I thought he was when I first saw him.

  The moment I started to rub myself against his hardness, Crane flipped us, laying me down on his pillow, basking in his warmth and his scent as his mouth demolished mine. His hands ran all over me, cupping my breasts, kneading them with vigor. My legs wrapped around him, and just when I was about to suggest we get rid of the rest of our clothes, Crane tore his lips off mine and stared at me for a moment.

  He blinked again and again, one of his hands still cupping my breasts. The pressure between his hard-on, which had started to escape his boxers, and myself lessened. “Kat?” Crane asked, his voice husky. “Oh, dear. I’m…I’m so sorry. I didn’t—” He practically flew off me, like I had the plague or something.

  With his back to me, he reached for his glasses, flexing the hand that had been so recently cupped against my left boob. I was still out of breath, still clueless at the switch. He was going along with it so well before he suddenly decided he didn’t want to kiss me anymore.

  “That was wholly inappropriate, and I’m sorry,” he apologized again, glancing back at me, his green eyes lucid and clear behind his glasses. His hands were on his lap, probably trying to hide his erection from me.

  I leaned towards him, setting a hand on his bare back. His shoulders were a lot nicer than his slim frame would suggest. His skin trembled beneath my touch, and I moved closer, kneeling beside him on the bed, watching as his cheeks burned pink. “Why are you apologizing?” I asked. “You weren’t the one who started it.” My eyes were on his mouth, his lips a bit pinker than they usually were. “I did.”

  And I wanted to keep going, too…but he was right. Now wasn’t the time for that. I had to tell him about my dream.

  “Oh…uh,” Crane paused, seemingly awkward on
ce he noticed my gaze was on his mouth, “is there a reason why?”

  How could I tell him that I was drawn to him like a helpless moth toward the flame? I didn’t even know why I did it, so trying to find the correct words to explain it to him without sounding nuts would be impossible.

  Wait a minute. This was Crane I was talking to. He and nuts went hand in hand.

  “I feel drawn to you,” I murmured, practically swooning over his bare back.

  “But you didn’t feel the same the first time you saw me?” When I was silent, realizing he was right, Crane got to his feet, leaving me alone in his bed. “Your connection to Sleepy Hollow is growing at a rapid pace. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this town wants us to have a repeat of the original tale.”

  Was he saying I didn’t like him? Was he saying the connection I felt with him was merely because of Sleepy Hollow? I didn’t know what to make of it, but I knew I didn’t like it. My feelings were my own…weren’t they?

  I mean, a man like Crane—he wasn’t the kind of guy you tripped over your feet for. His cuteness was the kind that snuck up on you, a nerdy kind of cute. When I’d first met him, I found him rifling through my dad’s things; of course I was going to be upset with him. To say everything I felt toward him was just because of this stupid town was asinine.

  I got off the bed, hurrying toward his side. He was in the closet, a walk-in closet because he was stinking rich, choosing a shirt and some pants. He had the pants on already, his hard-on tucked up into the waistline of his boxers, but not zipped up. Not yet. And no shirt yet, either.

  “No,” I said, moving before him. I tore the shirt out of his hands, probably wrinkling it too much, since it was one of those nice, button-up ones. “You’re wrong.”

  Crane’s head tilted down, a look of exasperation on his face. “It’s okay, Kat. I know I’m not…your type. You’d rather spend your time with a man like Brom, and I don’t blame you. I’m not like him—”

  God, I bet he could go on and on, putting himself down for ages.