Page 49 of Hollow
“Good,” she says in a clipped voice, letting go of my face. “Time to adjust your expectations about him. He’s your teacher, nothing more. A ghoulish fellow, too, at that, with those haunting eyes and cheekbones and skin like a ghost.”
I don’t know what to say. How quickly she’s changed her tune about him. “I don’t understand.”
She stoops down and unlaces my boots. “There’s someone better out there for you.” She looks up at me and winks, which is most unnerving. “You’ll see.”
“I’ve put on the kettle for some tea,” Famke says, coming out of the kitchen. “I’ll go make sure the guest bedroom has everything he’ll need.”
Moments later, Crane comes in, smelling like frost. “She’s all settled and happy,” he says to me, taking off his coat. “She’s a good horse.”
My mother just stares at him before she walks off into the kitchen.
Crane comes over to me, leans down, and whispers, “I don’t think she likes me very much.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, looking around to make sure no one is watching before I reach up and place my hand on his cheek. “I don’t know why she’s being like this.”
“She’s just looking out for her daughter,” he says with a smirk. “I wouldn’t trust anyone around a man like me either.”
I’m about to tell him that there’s nothing wrong with a man like him, but then again, I am his student, and he did just ravage me with his fingers while on the back of my horse.
“A cup of tea before bed?” my mother asks, coming out of the kitchen holding two steaming mugs. “I picked it from herbs in the garden. They’ll help calm you down and sleep. I can’t imagine the nightmares you might have after such an ordeal.”
Crane and I take the mugs from her. I sniff mine. Crane does the same. It smells warm and soothing, cinnamon and orange rinds. It’s not the tea I was thinking of.
“Smells like nettle,” Crane says before blowing on it. “One of my favorites. Alleviates pain. Soothes the nervous system.”
“You seem to know a lot about it,” my mother says tritely.
“He went to medical school,” I speak up, but Crane gives me a look, wishing for me to stay quiet.
“Oh?” she says, looking a little more interested now. “And why did you go the teaching route instead? You preferred to be poor?”
Crane chuckles at that. “I preferred being able to help people in whichever way possible.” He blows on his tea again and has a sip. “So, is this your witchcraft? Herbal teas and tinctures?”
My mother shrugs lightly. “I suppose. It’s not very fancy, is it?”
“No, but if it works, it works. It’s magic all the same. It’s healing people, helping people, wouldn’t you say? Tell me, Ms. Van Tassel, for I’ve been very curious about you. Why don’t you teach at the school? Surely your skills and knowledge would go a long way, given your family name.”
That was a question I had wondered, too, and yet never asked. But Crane gets right down to brass tacks.
My mother presses her fingertips together, and I can see she’s thinking. “I’m afraid you think too highly of the Van Tassel family name,” she says. “I may be Leona and Ana’s sister, but I haven’t been part of their coven for a long time.”
That takes me by surprise.
“But I’m not a part of their coven either, and I teach at the school,” Crane points out.
She gives him a stiff smile. “Yes. And perhaps you’re a much better teacher than I could ever be.” She nods at us both. “Now, finish your teas, and off to bed. I’ll be making the journey with you to school tomorrow. I may not be part of their coven, but the Sisters need to know what you saw.”
I want to tell her that we can inform them ourselves—it’s about time I saw my aunts—but then I stop myself. I want to see how my mother is on campus. I mean really watch her and watch how the Sisters interact with her. There’s something about their relationship that nags at me, but I can’t put my finger on what it is.
“Well,” Crane says, bowing slightly to my mother. “Thank you for the tea and your hospitality. I better go get ready for bed.”
He turns to me, and our eyes lock. I don’t want to be apart from him, not tonight, maybe not any night. I think from the intense look in his dark eyes, he doesn’t want it either.
But then he heads toward his room just as Famke comes out of it, showing him around, and my mother steps in beside me.
“There’s one man for you, Katrina,” she whispers in my ear. “And that man is not it.”
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