by Holly Kelly
She should have burned his body like she had the witches. Then there would have been nothing left for the villagers to discover. But she hadn’t. And now there was a frenzy. They were calling for blood, for retribution from whomever was responsible.
Lavinia brushed her fingers at the nape of her neck and stiffened. Her heart took off in a sprint.
It was gone!
She stopped herself before she bolted out of bed. That would surely wake Matthew. She had to leave quietly—which she did, minutes later.
The moon lit the way down the road as her mind raced. It had to have been while she wrestled with Hope. She must have lost her necklace then. But where exactly did they fight with one another?
Lavinia searched the area, her eyes narrowing when brittle grass crunched under her feet. She squatted down and smelled burnt grass.
This had to be the place.
She scoured the ground, looking for the gleam of the ruby, but came up with nothing. If only she could search in the daylight, but it was too dangerous. Her husband might start asking questions.
Lavinia shook off the fear that that thought garnered. Why should she be afraid? She was the most powerful witch in the Americas. The problem was, she loved her husband—a man who would burn her at the stake if he knew what she really was.
But he didn’t know. And while he remained ignorant, she could keep him by her side. She dreaded the possibility of what she might be forced to do if he found out about her.
She searched for a long while but came up with nothing. Her heart sank at the possibility that Hope had the stone. She became more and more certain of that as time ticked away.
What was that little schemer doing with it? She seemed quite fond of Conall, and she was an idealist—not to mention a bit naive.
“I know exactly where she is!” Lavinia said.
She pulled up her skirts and ran toward the church.
* * * * *
Hope strolled down a stone path. A canopy of trees surrounded her as wildflowers lined the trail—a few of them even poking their colorful heads through the pavestones at her feet. A pixie the size of a mouse fluttered in front of her, smiled, and then flew away. Hope searched the foliage and found many more pixies glowing like fireflies. The land of Faery was beyond beautiful. Why didn’t Conall want her to come live with him here? They could be quite happy.
The ground shook with a low rumble, and her heart raced. She darted behind a tree as the ground quaked again and then again. Were those footsteps?
She peered around the tree and her heart stopped. A ten-foot ogre with a gnarly, wart-ridden face was crossing the path, dragging something behind him. As he continued to move, she heard the wailing of a man. And then his frantic face came into view. The ogre dragged him by the ankle, his head bumping along the ground.
Oh, right. Ogres ate people in Faery. What was she thinking? Of course, she could not live here. Hope’s heart went out to the poor man. She should try to help him.
“There’s nothing you can do.” Conall’s warm voice spoke in her ear. “If you try to help him, you’ll be added to the menu.”
Hope spun around, threw her arms around his neck, and buried her face in his chest. “How can I not do anything to help? That wretched man is going to die.”
“I know, love. I am sorry you had to see that.”
“How could a place so beautiful have such horrors?” She trembled in his arms.
“No place is safe from the terrors of the flesh. As long as men, or ogres, have darkness in their hearts, the innocent will suffer.”
Another familiar voice spoke in earnest. “Wake up, Hope.”
“Father?” She raised her head and searched for his face.
“Hope, wake up now!” her father’s voice bellowed at her.
Hope’s eyes flew open as something flashed toward her. She had just enough time to roll to the side as a heavy axe came baring down on her. A scream caught in her throat as she heard the thud as the axe that was meant to sever her head hit the mattress. Scrambling off the bed, she searched for a route of escape. The horseman swung again and Hope ducked.
Movement near the entrance caught her attention. Her eyes fell on Lavinia.
“You stole something of mine,” Lavinia said, holding the ruby aloft.
“Look who’s calling the kettle black.” Hope looked back, not daring to take her eyes of the headless horseman for long. “You took Conall’s body!”
“He’s from Faery. Do you even know what they think of us?” Lavinia raised her hand as the horseman prepared to swing again. He froze mid swing. She took deliberate steps toward Hope. “We are their playthings. They are happy to shower us with flattery, tell us they love and adore us, take from us our virginity, use us for their own pleasure, and then when they tire of us, leave us to the mercy of their world—where we’d most likely perish over a spit at a troll’s festival.”
“Conall already told me about how it is. But he’s not like that.”
Lavinia laughed. “Right. And what reason would he have to say any different? He needs you. Without his body, he is helpless.” Her voice rose in volume as she spoke. “To them we are a plaything. Now he knows what it feels like!”
The anger in Lavinia’s voice caught Hope off guard. Then she was taken aback with a realization. “You’ve been there. To Faery.”
Lavinia’s chest rose and fell as a tear leaked from her eye. She slapped it away. “Yes, I have.” Her expression hardened. “I was banished there by those who were closest to me—my coven. At first, I thought it was a blessing. Faery is beautiful beyond compare. And the faery who found me was so handsome, I could barely breathe when he looked at me.” Lavinia hesitated, her face crumbling into sorrow.
Miraculously, Hope felt a spark of pity. “What happened?” she asked gently.
Lavinia’s hands trembled. Hope’s eyes darted to them, and then she said, “You’re going to kill me anyway. It might help to get it off your chest.”
Lavinia answered in a low voice. “He seduced me. I was easy prey. I thought it was love at first sight. So I denied him nothing. I gave him my body . . .” she sighed, “and my heart. He kept me around for several months. And then one bright morning, he promised to take me to meet his friends at a festival. I was so excited. I had never met any of his friends or relatives. I reasoned he must be planning to propose and wanted to prepare them. I was young and very naive.” Lavinia’s eyes took on a far-off expression, and Hope wondered if she even remembered who she spoke with.
“When we got to the festival, his demeanor changed.” She shook her head as if still in denial. “Like night and day. He did not look at me, he did not touch me. When I tried to speak to him, he silenced me with a growl. Then he found his friends. He laughed and embraced them, and then. . . .”
Lavinia hesitated.
“What happened next, Lavinia?”
Lavinia closed her eyes, releasing tears as she bit down on her lip. Her voice shook when she finally spoke. “He finally got around to introducing me—as the night’s entertainment.”
“No,” Hope gasped, regretting immediately her surprised outburst.
Lavinia nodded. “It was a very long night. I was unconscious when they left the next morning. When I finally awoke, my body was so broken and abused I could not even walk. So, I found the hollow of a thicket and lay in there, hoping to die. But I did not die. I survived, and eventually made it back to the human world.”
“I am so sorry,” Hope said. “No one should have to endure what you did.”
Lavinia glared at her. “I don’t deserve your pity.”
Hope shook her head and a realization struck her. “You don’t think you deserve sympathy?”
“I did not get banished to Faery because I was a saint. I made mistakes, and one of my mistakes cost the life of my brother, an innocent boy. I may not have meant for him to die. But he was dead just the same. I begged and pleaded with my coven to forgive me. But they would not hear of it. And looking back now, I
can see that I deserved my fate. What I did, how he suffered. It was unforgivable. But then I realized my coven was not innocent either. They were my guides, my teachers. They were the ones who showed me the spell—the one that would cure my brother’s best friend. They neglected to tell me that when saving one life, another must take its place. His friend was saved, but John, my own brother . . . he was beyond saving. He died a horrific and painful death. When I survived Faery, I vowed to make things right. The guilty parties would pay.”
“Did Victor know what you did?”
Lavinia shook her head. “He followed the path of my father—one that said witchcraft was of the devil. I never told him about my late-night excursions.”
“What about Agnes? Are you going to kill her too?”
Lavinia shook her head. “She alone stood up for me. But she didn’t stop the rest of the coven from banishing me.”
“Lavinia,” Hope said. “There can be forgiveness for you yet. God knows your intentions, and all you intended was to save a child’s life. The guilty have been punished. You can choose a better path now.”
Lavinia’s eyes took on a sheen of unshed tears. “You of all people know how far I have fallen. I would have killed you if I had the chance.”
“But you did not. Maybe that was God’s way of extending mercy to you. He did allow you to come back, did not he?”
“That was not God,” Lavinia said. “That was all me. I am a very resourceful witch.”
“‘From thy own lips, art thou condemned.’”
A deep voice spoke from behind, and Lavinia visibly paled.
Pastor Goodwin stepped out from the darkness of the tunnel, disgust on his face as he looked at his wife. Several other large men stepped forward, surrounding him. Lavinia backed away in horror.
“Wait. You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand?” her husband asked. He gestured to Hope. “Here is the school teacher injured and bleeding, with the headless monstrosity holding his axe above her, and you admitted your crime. What other conclusions can I draw?” Without giving her a chance to answer, he said, “Bind her tight. And prepare for her interrogation.”
“Please, don’t hurt me,” she screeched as they grabbed her and roughly tied her wrists together. “I am pregnant!” She looked at Pastor Goodman. “I carry your child, husband.”
“I am not your husband,” he growled and spat at her. “A woman can have only one spouse, and you are a witch. Your husband is Lucifer, and the child you carry is his.”
“No,” she screamed. “This is your child!”
“Lies!” he bellowed. “If it were my child, why is it you haven’t told me? You did not want me to know because you carry the devil’s child!”
“No, I do not.”
“Bind her mouth. I am tired of her lies.”
As they stuffed her mouth with rags and tied a strap of fabric over her mouth, Lavinia turned her pleading eyes to Hope.
Hope could do nothing. Still, her heart went out to the woman. Despite the fact she had tried to kill her, Hope found she could not hate a woman who had experienced so much heartache and abuse in her life. And even now she was desperate to protect her child. Hope dared not raise her voice, but mouthed the words. I am sorry.
Lavinia’s eyes widened and turned to the ground. Then they snapped back up to Hope and back to the ground.
Hope’s brows furrowed in confusion. But then Lavinia kept her eyes on the ground and nodded her head toward it.
Hope’s eyes followed Lavinia’s and landed on the gleam of stone peeking out from the dirt below.
The amulet!
Hope knew exactly what she needed to do. She had to restore Lavinia’s hope in God and humanity by saving Lavinia and her child. And to do that, she’d need to restore Conall. If there was anything the Bible had taught her, it was that repentance was possible for even the most depraved of souls. And there was good in Lavinia, Hope was sure of it now. She was simply a victim who was fighting back anyway she knew how.
Lavinia struggled in her captors’ grasps. Pastor Goodwin slapped her hard across the face.
Hope nearly missed her chance to retrieve the amulet as the shock of his abuse hit her. Thankfully, she recovered quickly, snatched the stone off the ground, and slipped it into her pocket. She looked back at Lavinia, and her heart sank when she saw her limp and unconscious in the arms of her abusers.
When one of the men stepped over and raised his musket at the horseman, Hope barely had time to step in front of the barrel.
“Hell-fire and damnation lass, I about shot you.” His gravelly voice matched his gruff and rugged features.
“You cannot kill it that way,” Hope said. “You’ll have to burn the body. But first thing’s first, let’s take care of the witch. He’ll not move unless he’s commanded.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Besides, I don’t want to miss any of the interrogatin’.”
“Then you better hurry up. You are being left behind.”
The men were so focused on Lavinia, they didn’t give Hope a second thought, and the next thing she knew, she was left alone with the horseman.
With the amulet tight in her grip, she stepped up to Conall’s body and whispered, “If there’s another way out of here, show it to me.”
He did not hesitate, but turned and strode toward a dark corner of the cave and disappeared into a crevice in the wall.
“Wait, wait!” Hope shouted, tripping over stones in the pitch blackness as she attempted to follow. “I will need you to carry me.”
She nearly shrieked when he swept her up in his arms. She took a few shaky breaths, trying to calm her heart, and then said, “Alright, get us out of this cave.”
Chapter 21
Hope heard the horseman lumbering behind her as her cabin came into view. Leaving him behind, she flung the door open and searched for Conall and Mr. Henry. The room was empty. “Conall! Where in the blazes are you?”
She rushed to the back window to see if they might perhaps be around back. There was no sign of them. Shaking her head, she pulled the drapes. “Of all the times you choose to disappear, it would be when I finally have your body.” The horseman stepped inside. She went to the door and slammed it shut behind him and then proceeded to pull all the curtains closed. Sprinting to the table, she cleared it of its dishes and cloth, then she grabbed her medical kit.
“You have to come back sometime, Conall, and when you get here, I will be ready.” She turned to the horseman. “Well, what are you waiting for? I need you to lie on the table.”
The wood creaked as he lay down. His enormous body sprawled across the surface, his legs hanging over the side. She looked toward the stump on top of his shoulders and frowned. “Now that won’t do. I need you to scoot down so your head will have somewhere to rest when I sew it back on.”
The horseman obeyed. Now his legs were completely off the side of the table. He looked as if he could easily slide off. It was just not large enough. Searching for a solution, her eyes landed on the bed. “Ah ha, this should do nicely.” She scooted the bed next to the table and hefted the horseman’s legs up to rest on it. It was just the trick to keep him from sliding onto the floor.
“Now, we just have to wait for your head. I know you’ve been searching for it for a long time. You must be excited at the prospect of finally being reunited with it. Though, come to think of it, I don’t know how you could be. I mean, excitement happens in the brain, and you don’t have one, do you? Your whole situation is perplexing. How did Lavinia accomplish the feat of keeping you alive without your head in the first place? Though I think it would be easier to keep a body alive than the head. You have your heart and all your organs. You are simply missing the thinking part of you.”
Hope looked around. Darkness blanketed the corners of the room. “This won’t do. I will need more light to work with. If I could open the curtains, that would work. But it’s too much of a risk.” She rushed to the fireplace, and her heart sank. There di
d not seem to be any remaining embers. “Conall, have you been about all night?” A low rumble had her heart pounding.
“Thunder? That better have been thunder.” She shook her head.
Snatching a candle off the table, she retrieved the fireplace poker from against the wall. She poked and stirred the ash, looking for . . .
And there it was—an orange glow.
Pressing the wick against the lone ember, a flame ignited. “Providence is smiling down on me.” She smiled and wasted no time lighting all the candles in the room. Then she set about making a fire in the hearth. When it was going strong, she looked up. Conall’s body lay on the table, her supplies placed just where she’d need them, the amulet was safely stored in her pocket, and there was ample light. She was ready.
The only thing she was missing—Conall’s head.
Light flashed from behind the billowing curtains. A heartbeat later, a thunderous boom made her jump. “Oh, please don’t let it storm. There’s so much I need to do. Pastor Goodwin’s men will not wait for the storm to pass.”
Hope paced the room, hoping beyond hope that Conall would return soon. After all, he could not possibly find the Headless Horseman, since he was lying here in her cabin. Conall and Mr. Henry would have to return sooner or later.
* * * * *
