The Cursed Hollow (Return to Sleepy Hollow Book 1)

by Candace Wondrak

  I stood on wobbly legs, glancing at my arm. No injury there. No cut. And my back didn’t hurt. I was okay in the otherworld, but that was little relief considering what my unconscious body was going through on earth. I had to get back, or at the very least find some way to notify Crane and Bones of where I was.

  But how?

  Chapter Twenty-Two - The Horseman

  It had been so long, I’d forgotten what it was like. Having a head, being complete. Not constantly in search of the one thing fate had denied me for centuries. And yet, now that I had it, I was still not whole. How could that be? My head was the only thing I wanted…wasn’t it?

  When I materialized on that bridge, when I heard the lanky one speak of needing my help, I bristled in anger. Who was he to demand my help? I did not enlist his help to find my head, and yet…yet he brought her up. The one I’d been following. The one who looked remarkably like another woman I had seen centuries ago. The one who told me she would help me, as long as I agreed not to harm anyone else.

  I’d pledged myself to her, and I would not let her fall into harm’s way.

  With my ax in hand, I started walking.

  The two men followed me, whispering among themselves as I took them away from the town, to an older part of it. To a place not many went to. The air was crisp and clean, clear even though it was night. It was not something I was used to, breathing in air, feeling it enter my nose and traveling into my lungs. I’d forgotten what it was like to have a head, and everything that encompassed.

  In a few minutes, I walked into a cemetery. It was an old place, looking much worse here than it did in the otherworld. In the otherworld, you could still read the names on the stones, could still see the freshly-packed dirt before some of the graves. Such was the oddity of the otherworld: parts of it had followed suit with the real world, new buildings and whatnot, but other parts of it remained the same, untouched, even after so many years had gone by.

  “Who do you think took her?” One of the men behind me broke the silence.

  The other responded, “I don’t know, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was the spirit possessing the lawyer.” The second man was the same one who demanded my help; he was fortunate I owed myself to her, otherwise I might’ve simply ended him right there.

  I didn’t get a perfect look at him, just threw a quick glance over my shoulder, but from the small bit of him I’d seen, he looked far too much like someone from ages past. Ichabod Crane.

  Oh, yes. I’d heard the stories. Everyone blamed the Horseman for what happened to Ichabod, but a few blamed the other man. Abraham. I was not the one who frightened Ichabod from town. That honor was Abraham’s. However, I was the one who haunted Abraham and killed him.

  Was I proud of the things I’d done? Would I do them over again if given the chance? It was hard to say. It’d been so long since I was human, mortal, that a part of me did not feel things as I would have, as I should have. Morality was one of them. The difference between right and wrong—I did not know where the line lay. It might very well be beneath my feet; I might straddle the line each and every day.

  Was I evil? Was a savior? Was I some spirit caught between? I knew this: I was human no longer, even with my head. My ax, the power flowing through me, was all the evidence I needed to know it. My link to her…

  I didn’t even know her name, but it didn’t matter. Names faded with time. Souls were eternal, and I…I was drawn to that soul, even though I knew it wasn’t fair to the dozens of other souls that had made the mistake of walking across my bridge at midnight. I’d ended them or sent their minds on fire; what was it that made this one so special? Was it her face?

  She looked remarkably like Katrina, almost exactly so.

  I brought us to a large stone tomb. The door was shut and blocked, and just when one of the men behind me started to say he could try forcing his way inside, I shot him a glare, stopping him cold. This one…the one with yellow hair, was a spitting image of the man I’d killed in his own bed all those years ago. Another Abraham.

  I did not need his help. I did not need them to follow me. They followed of their own accord. I leaned back, lifting a leg. With one hard kick from me and my otherworldly strength, the tomb’s door cracked open, revealing the dark, dank insides.

  A spirit wearing a dead meat sack of a body had her still form beneath him, a sharp bone fragment in his hand. She was collapsed on the ground, her head to the side, her eyes open and all white.

  I did not hesitate.

  I rushed inside, and as the spirit turned its decaying face to me, I threw my ax. The searing red end of the double-bladed weapon severed the head from the body, and both thumped to the floor with a sound that I was certain would make any human ill. The sound of rolling flesh did nothing to nauseate me.

  The spirit was gone; no spirit could withstand my ax.

  My ax landed in the stone wall a few feet away from her motionless figure, and before the others could rush in, I was at her side in a moment, heaving my ax from the wall. I breathed out a large, even breath, closing my eyes.

  When I opened my eyes, I was in the otherworld, standing in the same tomb. She was there, too, as was the spirit I just expelled from earth. She was in the corner of the tomb, whispering something under her breath as the spirit approached her.

  It was a hideous thing; something that wore no face and had no hair. The rest of its body looked human, but that was it. No clothes. No eyes, no ears. Nothing but a bulbous thing for a head and fingers that were twice the length they should’ve been.

  Again, I did not hesitate. Hesitation was not something I ever had…except when it came to my inexplicable need to touch the woman that was currently cornered by the spirit.

  I flipped my ax; instead of using the red-edged side, I would use the other. The other side was lined in blue, fit for the otherworld. I did not often use it, but here, it was necessary. If I used it here, other spirits would know to leave her alone.

  She was mine.

  She was mine, and I would not let any of these leeching spirits have her.

  I drew my ax in the air, bringing down the blue-shimmering blade straight into the spirit’s back. Its strange body went limp, and then, in a matter of seconds, it disappeared from sight and from existence altogether, disbursing into fine, sandy particles in the hazy otherworld air. I sluggishly drew my ax and my outstretched arm back, slowly meeting her eyes.

  “Holy shit,” she muttered, talking about the spirit that was no longer before her. Then her light green eyes rose, meeting my tall figure, and she said again in a different tone of voice, “Holy shit.”

  My ax vanished and I took a step towards her. Her posture turned rigid, as if she was unsure of me being so close, her breathing catching in the back of her throat, her eyes never having been wider. Even in the otherworld, their color was mesmerizing.

  Forcing her to come back to earth would be an adjustment, but I could not leave her here. She had to come back with me, and she had to come back with me now. I reached for her, grabbing her arm before she could pull away, focusing on bringing our minds and our souls back to earth. Or at least her soul. Me? I was unsure if I had one anymore.

  Within a few moments, we were on earth, her soul back in her body. Her eyes remained white, and as she blinked, red tears formed in the corners of her eyes. She couldn’t see.

  The other two men came to us, carefully stepping over the decapitated body. The one who looked like Abraham held his nose as he said, “I should call this in. I don’t…I don’t know what I’ll say, though.”

  “Maybe it’s best not to say anything,” the one who was exactly like Ichabod spoke. “I can’t think of a logical way to explain this. Anyone who doesn’t live in Sleepy Hollow…they won’t believe it.” He held in a gag.

  Meanwhile, as they spoke back and forth about what to do, I simply stared down at her.

  Ichabod bent beside me, undoing the buttons on his shirt and taking it off, revealing a smaller white shirt beneath the fir
st. He reached for her, and I let out a growl of a noise, to which he glanced at me from behind his glasses. “I’m only using my shirt to staunch the blood flow,” he said. “She’ll need stitches, I think, but it doesn’t look too deep.”

  I let him tie his shirt around her elbow, watching as her eyes returned to normal. She blinked once, twice, and then her head fell back, her eyelids fluttering closed, unconscious to the world. To us. To me.

  The blonde one spoke, “I got her,” but I shot him another glare. He did not bend to pick her up, simply saying, “Okay. Or you got her. That’s fine, too.” I could tell by his tone he wasn’t certain what to think of me, which was more than fine. I wasn’t sure what to think of myself.

  What was I, now that I had my head?

  I knew one thing, though: no spirit was going to get their filthy, greedy hands on her. Never again. Now that I was here, I would never leave her side.

  I reached for her, cradling her body to my chest as I stood. She weighed nothing to me, her body so small compared to mine. Her head leaned against my chest, and even with the blood seeping from her eyes, she was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen.

  Yes. I might be a monster. I might be soulless. I might be everything a nightmare entailed, a being with no moral compass and no compassion, but for her? For her I would be anything.

  Chapter Twenty-Three – Kat

  I woke to a raging headache, and a prickly pain on my arm. My back was bruised and throbbing, but all in all, I was still alive, so there was that. A warm bed sat under me, sheets drawn up to my chest. My arms lay atop the comforter, and as I opened my eyes to view the white ceiling, I let out a soft sigh, momentarily having trouble remembering it all.

  I sat up slowly, eyes falling to my arm. Slowly it was coming back to me. I had a six-inch incision on my arm beneath a new bandage. A long cut from a bone in my dad’s body. And then, in the otherworld, that thing with no face…

  Oh, fuck. I wanted to be sick.

  I swung my legs off the bed, measuredly standing. My body was sore like you wouldn’t believe, but I was here, still kicking, so I’d call it a win. My feet were bare, and as they touched the floor, I reached for my face, not feeling any crusted blood. No bloodied tears. Crane and Bones must’ve cleaned me up.

  Wait. I was either missing something, or…

  My peripherals spotted a huge, towering figure standing in the corner of the room. A man, six and a half feet tall, his body as wide and as intimidating as I remembered it being. The same uniform, the same heavy breathing. The part that was new? The head resting between the shoulders.

  A mouth whose lips were drawn into a line, gaunt cheekbones resting above a square, stubble-lined jaw. Black hair so deep in color that the hue was the blackest black I’d ever seen. A nose that was semi-crooked, as if he’d gotten into a lot of scrapes in the past. And his eyes…practically as black as his hair.

  He watched me as I studied him, swaying slightly on my feet. I bet he wasn’t thinking what I was thinking, though. Something along the lines of: holy fuck. This is the Headless Horseman? He’s a sexy lumberjack of a man, capable of breaking me in half with his pinky. Why the hell does his face have to be so attractive?

  Because he was. He was a tall, dark, and pantie-wetting kind of handsome.

  “Uh” was my brilliant way to break the silence. “Stay here,” I said, moving to leave the room. I paused near the door, which was cracked open, to look at him. I held out a hand, as if I was talking to a wild animal, “Stay.” Or a dog. Not a sexy, pantie-dropping guy who’d killed someone for me.

  Yeah. Talk about conflicted feelings.

  I headed down the stairs. I was in Crane’s house, which wasn’t shocking; this place had become another home to me. Crane and Bones were in the kitchen, talking amongst themselves, sounding…sounding like they were almost friends. Acquaintances. Not people who hated each other.

  Huh.

  Maybe my life and death situation brought them together.

  Bones was the first to see me, and he rushed to envelop me in his arms, careful to avoid my bandaged side. His warmth flooded through me, and I exhaled a lungful. Bones’s presence always calmed me down.

  A minute passed, and when Bones withdrew from me, it was Crane’s turn. Hugging Crane was harder, mostly because he was tall, but I pressed my face against his chest and breathed in his cologne scent. “How are you feeling?” he asked. “How’s your arm? I did my best to disinfect it before I stitched it up.”

  As he released me, I glanced to my bandaged arm. “Honestly, I’m afraid to look,” I deadpanned. I was about to mention the towering figure in the bedroom, but I heard footsteps on the stairs and then in the hall, so I turned my head, watching as the Horseman appeared, standing off to the side, watching me.

  Me, me, and only me. The man had eyes for no one else. It was as if Crane and Bones weren’t even in the room.

  “I told you to stay upstairs,” I said, watching as he leaned on the wall near the fridge, crossing his arms over his muscular, solid chest. What would he look like naked?

  So not what I should be wondering right now.

  “He refuses to leave your side,” Bones muttered.

  “And his head?” I asked, slowly bringing my gaze back to the two men before me. It was beyond hard not to ogle the Horseman. I didn’t think I’d ever seen a finer man in my life. No joke. My cheeks heated up when I wondered if he was as impressive below the hood as he was above it.

  “We found your directions and followed them,” Crane said, his eyes darting to the man in question. “We took the head to the bridge, hoping he’d lead us to you.”

  I did my best not to think about the spirit that had taken over my dad’s body, but it was hard. The smell. The rancid smell was what was going to stick with me for a long time. “What are we going to do about my dad?” I wasn’t sure what happened after I passed out and flew into the otherworld, but explaining to a hospital how a body wound up miles away in a crypt was not something I was familiar with.

  “We’re handling that,” Crane said, glancing at Bones, who nodded.

  I couldn’t get over how buddy-buddy they were being. I didn’t detect a smidgen of disdain for each other. They really did look like friends. Or maybe they were just banding together against the Horseman.

  “Before the spirit cut me,” I explained, closing my eyes as I fought against reliving it, “it said a spirit couldn’t open the veil with me. It’s something only I can do. It said even if they possess me, they won’t be able to do it. The way he was talking…it sounded like I have power, like,” I paused, hating what I was about to say, “I’m a witch.”

  Now I had three pairs of eyes staring at me, none of them saying anything.

  “And, not to add onto this mess even more, but—” God, how was I supposed to say this next bit? “—the original Katrina? I think she was a witch too, and I think she didn’t care which one of you won.” I glanced at the Horseman, feeling my heart do something funny in my chest when I met his stern, black stare. “I think she wanted someone she couldn’t have.”

  This place, I’d been foolish for thinking I’d be able to get away. I couldn’t leave Sleepy Hollow. I couldn’t leave these guys, and now that the Horseman was here, full, head on his shoulders, I couldn’t let him be. I was stuck here, but maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

  Sleepy Hollow might be cursed, a place I’d avoided and hated coming to growing up, but it wasn’t so bad, evil, murderous spirits aside.

  If this was going to be my new life, well…with Crane and Bones by my side—and the Horseman, because at this rate, it looked like I’d never pee or shower alone ever again—I could handle it.

  You know what? Yeah. All this spirit stuff. I was getting the hang of it.

  Chapter Twenty-Four - Not Kat

  The mayor’s office had just put in the order for the festival’s flowers. I jotted down the number and which types were needed, the same as last year, no surprise there, and headed into th
e back room. My shop was on the main street of Sleepy Hollow, just near the center gazebo and park, where the festival was always held.

  Always. Without fail, because things in this town never changed, even as the years went by.

  My grey hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, but when I entered the back room, I pulled out the elastic band, moving to stand before the full-length mirror near the desk. It was a cluttered space, but I always kept a mirror nearby; it helped me to remember who I was, not the old, wrinkly woman I looked to be.

  My reflection spoke the truth, although no one else would be able to see it but me. You see, my outer appearance might be that of a sixty-year-old woman, but deep down I was the same. I might be inside a withering, aging body, but my power remained, mostly. This world would not keep me down. I would rise up, and it would be glorious.

  Inside the mirror stood a young woman. Pretty, slim, with shiny auburn hair and sparkling green eyes. Full lips that drew every man’s attention. I missed looking pretty. When I had that body, it wasn’t customary for a woman to turn down a man’s affections, especially when she was orphaned and left with her father’s money.

  I did not want Abraham, and I did not want Ichabod.

  I reached a hand to my face, watching as my reflection did the same. I felt old, wrinkled skin instead of the smooth porcelain that was in the mirror. I closed my eyes for only a moment before willing my mind to the otherworld.

  It had taken years of practice, but I could do it now without going blind or crying blood. It was a skill my new body would have to learn.

  The otherworld met me in a haze of milky white, and it wasn’t long before my pet spirit appeared, her white hair like a spiderweb, defying all laws of gravity. Her eyes were vacant, her teeth sharp as knives. I used her to keep watch.