Hollowed: Return to Sleepy Hollow, the Complete Duology

by Candace Wondrak

  How could I tell him that I didn’t want to choose? That being caught in the middle was the most unfair thing ever—along with being a target of otherworldly spirits? How could I tell him that, yes, I felt for him too, but I also had equal feelings for Bones? What sane man would want to hear the woman he liked say something like that?

  I opened my mouth, about to say something, change the subject, do anything that didn’t involve talking about the feelings I had for him and Bones, but my phone rang. It was currently plugged into an outlet in the wall, so I grabbed it, not recognizing the number. I picked it up, a pit settling in my lower stomach as I said, “Hello?”

  Normally I never answered my phone when an unrecognized number rang. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it was simply spam. Someone from another country, telling me I won a cruise or asking about insurance for my new car, and then of course phishing for credit information and social security numbers. Older people might fall for it, but come on.

  “Yes, am I speaking to Ms. Katrina Aleson?” It was a male’s voice, and he sounded…unsure.

  “This is she,” I said, meeting eyes with Crane. “Who is this?” Something told me this wasn’t a normal spam call. This, I had the feeling, was so much worse—and of course it was. This was Sleepy Hollow. Go big or go home.

  “I’m calling from Memorial Hospital—”

  Memorial Hospital was where they were keeping my dad’s body until everything was figured out. Did they only keep bodies for so long? These were questions I never had to ask myself before. I should’ve looked it up, made a time frame for myself…I never thought my stay here would get extended on such extraordinary circumstances.

  “—and it seems…” The man trailed off, sounding quite flabbergasted, considering he was the one who called me and not the other way around. “It seems we’ve misplaced your father. We’ve gone through security tapes, questioned everyone who’s been to the morgue—it’s like he vanished.”

  They couldn’t find my dad’s body? How? It wasn’t like he could just get up and walk away…

  I wanted to be sick. It took everything in me to say calmly, “If you find him, please let me know.” And then I hung up, glancing to Crane, who watched the entire phone call in an elegant silence only he was capable of.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “My dad’s body…” The words felt strange. “It’s gone. They can’t find it at the hospital.” I had a horrible thought, one that made me want to wish none of this was real. True nightmare fodder. “Can a spirit possess a dead body?” Just from the look on Crane’s face, I knew I wasn’t going to like his answer.

  “Theoretically, yes,” Crane said, pushing his glasses further up his nose, lost in thought. “But I have never heard of one doing it. Possessing a corpse would only be a temporary solution. The body wouldn’t last long, not at all comparable to how long a living, breathing host would last. I mean, technically a spirit could possess a human for their entire lives.”

  “If it’s the same spirit that possessed Mike…” I couldn’t say more, and a chill swept over me, causing me to grow immeasurably cold. I wrapped my arms around myself, running my palms over my arms, trying to warm myself up.

  Crane moved toward me, reaching for me, and before either of us could think better of it, he pulled me into a hug. He rested his chin on the top of my head as he said, “As long as you remain here, you’re safe. No spirit can reach you in this house.”

  I closed my eyes, willing myself to believe him. Somehow, though, I knew things wouldn’t be so simple. If a spirit had possessed my dad’s body, where else could it go but here?

  That night, as I lay down to sleep, I couldn’t help but stare out of the window, at the full moon in the sky. Nearly full, I should say. Crane had a calendar in the kitchen, and I’d spent enough time staring at it while eating to know the full moon was tomorrow. The ward that I’d be able to wear around town should arrive within a few days, but still, I didn’t feel safe.

  How could I, when I knew my dad’s body was out there, rambling around? And I knew it was; the hospital didn’t misplace my dad’s body. It simply got up and walked away.

  I closed my eyes, pulling the covers over my head. I didn’t want to think about it, but it was all my mind could picture: my dad’s decaying body, rambling like a zombie, coming for me because the spirit haunting him needed me, or my blood, or my death, whatever. Though it was the absolute last thing I wanted to do, I felt the emotions welling inside, and my eyes teared up in spite of myself.

  I cried myself to sleep that night. I cried even after I opened my eyes and found myself in a field, in dreamland, wearing an old-fashioned white dress. My fingers ran over the stitched fabric, and I went to wipe my cheeks. The same field, although this time there were no bodies. No battlefield full of rotting corpses and bloodied uniforms. The sun was hot overhead, and I sat there, hunched over, hating how messed up this was.

  I didn’t ask for any of this. I was fine with my normal life. I was fine with my low-paying job that barely got me by and dating guys for a month or two until I grew tired of them. I was fine with everything. This? This was some kind of medieval torture. This was downright awful, and I wouldn’t wish this upon my worst enemy.

  I stared at my lap for a while, at least until a large shadow blocked out the sun.

  Right. Because I was never alone, not even in my dreams. I was connected to the headless man before me somehow, someway, just as I was connected to Bones and Crane.

  I tilted my head up, meeting the tall, headless stature of the man in black before me. No ax, no demonic horse. Just him, looming over me like a giant. Like a thick, intimidating, headless giant.

  “I’m tired,” I whispered, feeling the weight in my bones. Sleepy Hollow was sucking the life out of me bit by bit, and it wouldn’t stop until I was dead. That’s what this whole thing was about, right? Me, dying to open the veil completely, letting all the spirits of the otherworld onto earth to wreak whatever havoc they could.

  My blood. My death. Not to sound narcissistic, but this was all about me. The more I found out, the more I firmly believed my father was murdered in order to bring me here. Everything was carefully orchestrated, all for me.

  “Is it because I look like her?” I asked a man who could never answer me, a man who could not speak. “Is it because I’m the spitting fucking image of Katrina Van Tassel? I didn’t ask to be her doppelganger. I didn’t ask for any of this.” The more I spoke, the more enraged I became, until I could barely see straight. Until fresh tears coursed down my cheeks.

  The Horseman was sluggish in kneeling beside me, his tall frame taking its time in bending toward me. One arm hung to his side, but the other rested along his knee, his fingers clenched in his leather gloves.

  I didn’t know why I said what I said next, but I did. Maybe because I was feeling shitty; maybe because I just needed to say it. “You can touch me,” I whispered, glancing at him through watery eyes.

  Telling the Headless Horseman he could touch me? Never something I thought I’d say.

  There were a lot of things I never thought I’d say, but Sleepy Hollow was pulling them from me one by one at a record-setting pace.

  The Horseman lifted the arm resting on his knee, uncurling his fingers as he tentatively brought them to my face. I closed my eyes the moment I felt the old, worn leather touch my skin, my breath hitching as his thumb ran across my cheek, his glove catching the water there and wiping it aside.

  It’s funny. With my eyes closed, I could imagine he was a person, that he had a head. That he wasn’t a murdering spirit that had haunted Sleepy Hollow for centuries. He was just a man, and I was just a woman, caught in a bad situation.

  I was measured in opening my eyes, staring straight at the place where his head would be. “If I live through this,” I told him, his hand still gingerly touching my cheek, “I’ll help you find your head, but no more hurting anyone. No more killing. That’s the deal.”

  Crane would kill me if h
e knew I was telling the Horseman I’d help find his head. He would kill me if this town and its spirits didn’t. Couldn’t trust the Horseman, and yet I couldn’t help but feel as if I could, even if he could go on a rampage. Even if he was a killer. Honestly, I shouldn’t even think of helping him.

  But I was. I wanted to.

  The hand caressing my cheek returned to his side, and I hated to say it, but I felt its loss. He was gentler than his wild, ax-wielding side would reveal. His fingers curled into a fist, and he laid that same arm across his chest, his fist wound tightly against his upper pectoral. The Headless Horseman was kneeling, with a hand over his heart, pledging to me that he would heed my words and listen to them.

  No more killing. Could the Horseman do it? I guess we’d find out, assuming I survived.

  No more tears fell, and I felt my lips curling into a smile. I shouldn’t be smiling; I shouldn’t be excited for this, but deep down, a part of me was. “Okay,” I said. “It’s a deal.”

  Step one: survive the spirits trying to use me to open the veil to the otherworld.

  Step two: deal with my dad’s things and his funeral, assuming his body is found and it isn’t overrun by some spirit.

  And, last but not least, step three: help the Headless Horseman find his head.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I woke up the next morning invigorated, ready to take on the day. I flew out of the bed, about to find Crane, but something stopped me, causing me to freeze as I put on my ankle-high boots. The window to the bedroom was open, the cool, crisp air outside wafting in, an unwelcome and unwanted breeze.

  After glancing all around and finding nothing else out of place, I went to close the window, wondering why these things kept happening. Did windows and doors just open by themselves in Sleepy Hollow? Didn’t the wards on Crane’s house stop spirits from coming in? I was confused; I’d have to ask him about it.

  Once the window was firmly shut and locked—although neither of which seemed to matter much around here—I spun to leave the bedroom, but something new caught my eye, something dark and brown, resting on top of the bed I’d just gotten out of.

  And the sheets…they were made. Expertly made, not a single crease anywhere that I could see.

  Okay, something was definitely going on here.

  “Crane,” I called for him loudly, stepping toward the thing on the bed. The closer I got to it, the more I felt drawn to it. “Crane, come here!”

  The thing resting on the bed was…a book. An old book, judging from its worn edges and spine. It was leather-bound, stitched with thick black material, at least three or four inches wide. A book like that had to be heavy; I certainly would’ve noticed it when I got up.

  “Crane,” I yelled for him again, as loudly as I could, now standing directly before the book. I loved books, but this particular one…an ominous aura radiated from it. I blinked, and suddenly the book came to life, opening of its own accord, its yellowed pages flipping by itself, stopping as it came upon a page with some words and a drawing.

  The words were in English, but it was an old kind of English. I could read it, but it was difficult; some of the words weren’t spelled right. The drawing was one of three circles, a pattern whose overlapped area was colored black.

  The more I stared at it, the surer I was. Somehow, deep down, I knew what it was. Instinctual, almost.

  A locator spell.

  This was a book of shadows, but it wasn’t mine.

  I heard Crane’s voice in the hallway, “I’m coming, I’m coming. Sorry, I was in the shower.” Crane opened the door, stepping into the room, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. A white towel that actually made his skin look somewhat tan. A towel that clearly hadn’t dried him off yet, for the rest of him sparkled with water droplets. His brown hair, his gaunt jaw, his flat chest and abdomen… “What is it?”

  He stared at me, not at the book on the bed.

  I averted my eyes from his lower stomach, pointing to the bed. “That.” Jeez, Crane was oblivious. Possibly the most oblivious person I’d ever met, which had to say something.

  Crane blinked behind his glasses, which were a bit steamy. “What?”

  “What?” I echoed, pointing harder. “The book! Don’t you…” I stopped the moment I turned to glance at the book. Well, no fucking wonder Crane was looking at me like I was crazy. The book of shadows wasn’t there anymore, and neither was its spell. It was just gone, like it was never there to begin with. My mouth dropped, and I fumbled, trying to find the right words to say.

  Crane shook his head, moving to the window, closing it and latching it…which I knew for a fact I just did a minute ago. “You shouldn’t leave the windows open, Kat.”

  I met his stare. “Spirits?”

  Once again, he looked at me strangely. “Bugs,” he said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. Crane left the room, returning to the bathroom, and I trailed after him like a confused puppy.

  “Crane,” I said, leaning on the door frame, not allowing him to shut it. The bathroom was steamy; the man liked hot showers. Right now, I was too freaked out to ogle his mostly naked form. “I shut that window right before I started calling for you.”

  His brown eyebrows came together. “But it was open when I walked in.”

  “Yeah, and there was also a book on the bed.”

  “A book?”

  “A book,” I said. “And not just any book, but a book of shadows. A book of spells. Crane, the book opened to a locator spell.”

  His emerald eyes studied me. “How do you…”

  “I just know,” I said, unable to explain how I knew. I just did. Simple as that. Why was Crane trying to make this so damn difficult? I wanted to take him by the lean shoulders and shake him…and then, maybe, do a few other things with him, too.

  “Kat,” Crane spoke slowly, taking a step closer to me. His eyes fell to my feet, slowly traveling up as he said, “If a book of spells appeared to you, that means someone wanted you to see it. And a locator spell…”

  I came to the same realization he did. “Someone wants me to find the Horseman’s head.” Not just the Horseman; there was someone else out there who wanted me to help…but why? And who…

  So many questions. Would we ever get answers?

  “But if they have the book with the spell, why can’t they just do it?” I asked, realizing how close Crane was. Two feet in front of me, still wearing nothing but a towel. Still wet. Still drool-worthy in his own, uptight way.

  “Remember what I said?” Crane spoke, his voice a bare whisper. “Not every witch is capable of doing every spell.”

  “And spirits and spells—”

  “Don’t mix. Someone in town is a witch, and I bet they believe you’re one, too. But why would they want you to find the Horseman’s head? There has to be more to it.”

  I resisted my urge to touch him, to drag a hand down his chest and catch all the water droplets on its way down. “I’m not a witch though, right?” Me being a witch—it was crazy, wasn’t it?

  “You can peek into the otherworld without any help. There might be some side effects after, but I’ve never seen anyone do what you do, Kat,” Crane whispered. He took a tendril of my auburn hair between his fingers. “You just might be.”

  If I was, I was untrained, new to all of this. Why would any witch think that I had the power to find the Horseman’s head? Why me? Why any of this? Hell, why couldn’t my dad have been normal, not obsessed with this place? Things would be so different. I almost thought things would be better, but then I never would’ve met Crane, or Bones.

  Was I willing to trade my dad’s life for them? I…

  No. I wasn’t in the business of trading lives.

  “I just want to be normal,” I muttered, closing my eyes when I felt his hand move to my arm, slowly moving upward until he touched my neck. Crane was being awfully forward, but I didn’t mind. Anything to get my mind off the freaky happenstances around here, and that book…

  “
You’re anything but normal,” Crane murmured. “I’ve known you were special before meeting you.”

  Right. Because he was drawn to me. My eyelids were slow to lift, and I met his stare, suddenly less than six inches away. “How do you know what you feel for me is real? How do you know it isn’t just…this place, telling you what to feel?” Maybe both he and Bones wouldn’t like me if we weren’t in Sleepy Hollow. Maybe, if this was a normal situation, neither of them would look twice at me.

  That…wasn’t a good thing to think. It made me sadder than I wanted to admit.

  “Kat,” Crane spoke my name softly, his breath hot on my face. “You might be confused, but I’m not. I know what I feel.”

  “What do you feel?” I whispered, hating that I needed to know.

  Crane gave me a look that sent my insides a tumble. He opened his mouth to say something, but it was at that particular time the door knocked downstairs. He heaved an explosive sigh, pulling himself away from me. “Brom’s here,” he muttered, leaning on the granite countertop. “Perfect timing, as always.”

  I coughed, feeling awkward. Crane was usually the awkward one, but now it was all me, baby. Me, mostly because I had the feeling I knew what Crane was about to say. “I’ll let him in,” I said, stepping away from him and out of the bathroom.

  That was five seconds from turning into something intimate, I knew.

  Jesus. Things were too complicated around here.

  I greeted Bones when I opened the door, my stomach doing somersaults when I saw his fit, muscular body wearing his normal, everyday clothes and not his uniform. Bones looked drop-dead gorgeous no matter what he wore—or didn’t wear, I thought, remembering our time in the otherworld.

  His blonde hair was slicked to the side, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he saw me. He stepped inside, and I noticed the bags he carried. Bones headed straight for the kitchen, tossing me a dimpled smile. “I brought breakfast,” he said, setting the bags on the counter.