Page 72 of Hollow
“Let me,” her voice rings through the darkness, and suddenly, there’s light again.
She’s holding the candle in her hands now, her fingertips black and dipped into the flame. Her face is normal again, and her expression is more bemused than angry.
“I’m sorry,” I manage to say, my teeth clacking together.
“Don’t be,” she says coolly, lifting her chin. “You’re only in a very private part of the school that’s off-limits to anyone who isn’t part of the coven.” She raises her brow, and I realize it’s one of the few times I’ve seen her without her cloak on her head. “Are you interested in joining our coven, Ichabod?”
I can barely swallow. “I was following someone.” Like hell I would want to be part of your coven.
“Yes,” she says dryly. “Sister Sophie told me about your situation. You mustn’t let the students get the best of you. You’re their professor, after all. You have the higher ground.”
I stare into her eyes, the darkness in them growing as if her irises are spreading. “I’ll try to remember that,” I manage to say. “Still, don’t you think it’s strange that the students would lead me down here? Where are we anyway?”
The corner of her lip twitches. “We are in the soul of the institute. 1710 was the year we first broke ground here and built this very building. But when we were digging, we discovered this place right here had already existed, deep underground. Like it was waiting for us.”
I stare at her for a moment, processing that, before looking around at the walls. They aren’t stone or wood but packed dirt like the floor, covered in a thin veil of what could be oil. “What was it?”
She shrugs. “We don’t know,” she muses. “The town of Sleepy Hollow only existed for seventy years prior to the construction of the school. This is an old place, older than New Netherland, older than America, older than the natives, perhaps even older than what you call God. But it sustains us, and it will sustain you. You can feel it, can’t you, Ichabod? The power here, how it moves like worms through the earth, feeding on your soul.”
“On my soul?” I ask.
“Ah, I forget. Sometimes you wonder if you have one. Well, I’m here to inform you that you do. And it is very, very sweet.” She grins. Once again, her teeth are a little sharper than they were before. She waves a hand in front of my face. “You will eeepsim see dorec fly fantasm, Mr. Crane. Let vorus vim alone.”
Half her words don’t even make sense.
But it doesn’t matter. Because I’m losing my balance and falling to the left. I expect to have my shoulder slam into the sticky dirt wall, but it doesn’t. Instead, I keep falling and falling.
And falling.
* * *
I wake up in my bed. It’s a slow awakening as pieces of the night slowly slip out of my grasp. My head pounds like I have a drastic hangover.
My ears adjust to the ticking of the clock, and I look over in the dim morning light to see the time. Six forty-four. My alarm will go off in a minute.
Everything that happened is nearly lost. I remember I stayed up late, couldn’t sleep. I was thinking about Brom and Kat and Sarah, and then I was thinking about…Vivienne Henry? Of voices trapped behind walls? Of Sister Leona’s row of sharp teeth?
I rub my palm down my face. “What is happening to me?”
I take in a deep breath and try once more to grasp the fragments of the night, but they melt away like dreams. Were they dreams? Thoughts? Did the dead teacher make an appearance again?
I’ve got nothing. Nothing but questions and never any answers.
Some teacher I’ve turned out to be.
Chapter 22
Kat
The next morning, I wake up with a heavy heart, anger and shame settling over me like the low fog outside my window. The first thing I remember is fighting with Brom in the stables, the last person on Earth that I want to fight with. He had been so cruel and callous, but I had lost my temper. I know it’s not his fault that he doesn’t remember anything, and I know that’s also why he’s not himself, why he’s become so rough and volatile. I should have been more understanding.
But then again, I didn’t deserve for him to compare me to a dirty rag. I didn’t deserve his jealous outbursts. I’m trying to help him, and it feels like I’m the only one who is.
Except for Crane. I have to talk to Crane. When we left his class yesterday, he had promised us he would read up on any magic or spells that could work to reverse memory loss. I thank God that I have him, the only other person who seems to care as much as I do. For once, I feel like I’m not alone.
I get up slowly, looking around my bedroom, at the stack of books on the desk, the dried flowers in a vase, my stack of tarot cards that I now feel brave enough to leave out in the open. On the wall is a framed picture of rudimentary art, wet leaves pressed onto canvas until they left colored outlines, but I had done it with my father one autumn afternoon, sitting outside on the porch, not realizing I was creating a moment in time that would live forever.
Will I be able to take it with me to the school? How much of myself am I allowed to bring? Where the idea of living on campus thrilled me weeks ago, now I feel sick to my stomach over it. Because it isn’t my choice, and I don’t know why my mother wants me to be there. Is it truly because she wants me and Brom to be closer because she—and everyone else—still thinks we’re going to get married? Or is it something else? After what Famke told me and after Brom confirmed it, I know my mother doesn’t have my best interests at heart.