Page 12 of Hollow

Witch, I think to myself. She’s some sort of witch.

“You’d be right about that, Mr. Crane,” she says.

My eyes widen.

“But you shouldn’t look so scared,” she goes on. “After all, you’re a witch too.”

I dare to take my eyes off her for a moment and glance worriedly around me. The street is empty and bare, save for a rat scampering near a drain, and my hotel is just at the end of the block. I wonder if I can get there before she can stop me. I don’t know how she would—I’m at least a foot taller than her, but witches aren’t to be trusted.

“I won’t stop you,” she says. “But you might want to listen to what I have to say, Mr. Crane. I’m afraid it involves your future and an opportunity I hope you’re not too daft to refuse.”

I’m tempted to push her away. To walk to the hotel and slam the door in her face. Or, hell, perhaps turn around and head right back to the opium joint. Lie down on the mat with a pipe and let all of this dissolve into a dream.

“What sort of opportunity?” I find myself asking, my tone wary.

“A financial one,” she says. “A rewarding one. You see, I’m a recruiter for a prestigious college, and we’re looking for a teacher with your background.”

I choke on a laugh. “My background?”

“Yes,” she says simply. “We know you went to medical school in Chicago and that you were all set to graduate with flying colors until you abruptly quit. We know you went on to teach at an academy in San Francisco, where you met your wife. And we know of the tragic circumstances, of which I’m sure you need no reminding, that led you here to New York City…and what your life has become since.”

I stare at her, absolutely befuddled. “You got a hold of the police records?”

“You couldn’t blame me for learning all I can about a potential employee, could you?” she says. “But no, there is no record to speak of. You’re not the only witch that can see someone’s past. I know what your hands can do when you put your mind to it. All that I need to do to see someone’s past is hold something they’ve touched.”

The woman reaches into her cloak and pulls out a blue handkerchief that looks like the one I had earlier. I quickly pat my coat pocket but am not surprised to find it gone.

“Mage,” I manage to say.

“Pardon me?”

“I’m a mage, not a witch.” I scowl, narrowing my eyes at her.

“Semantics,” she says, holding out the handkerchief. “Take it. You left it at the opium den.”

“You were there with me too?” I ask bitterly, swiping my handkerchief from her. I’ve never met anyone with these sorts of powers. It’s practically grotesque.

“Shadow magic,” she says, a self-assured smile on her lips. “Renders one invisible in the dark. It’s one of my many gifts. Gifts that you will soon have if you come join me.”

I shake my head, raising my hand dismissively as I take a step backward. “Look, Madame Witch, you seem like a nice person, but I think we’re going to have to part ways. You see, I’m quite happy here.” I gesture to the city. “I like New York. I don’t want to leave. And I’m definitely not doing so for some handkerchief-stealing woman I met on the street.”

She remains unfazed. “This college is only thirty miles north of here. In the state.”

“It’s not the state I love,” I say, stepping backward. “It’s the city. And as I said, I am quite happy. So very happy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s late, and I need to sleep for several days.”

I turn around, hoping she will let it be and go find some other hapless professor to teach at her school. I walk a few feet, look behind my shoulder, and see her standing there under the streetlight. The further away I walk, the more her features start to meld into nothing again.

No nose, no eyes. Nothing but a thin-lipped smile.

I swallow and turn around, my skin feeling both hot and cold. A bath would be good. A hot bath. A cold bath. Something, anything.

By the time I get into the hotel though, lurching past the old man asleep at the front desk, and to my floor, the communal bathroom is occupied, a bath already running, so I keep going.

I fish out my keys to my room, hands shaking slightly as I turn the lock, then fling the door open and stumble inside. I slam it shut and quickly lock it behind me.

Then I lean back against it, my arms splayed as if to hold it closed, and shut my eyes, trying to take a deep breath.

What the hell was that? Who was that woman? Did she really know all that information about me through my handkerchief, or had she been following me for years?