Page 90 of Hollow

He’s at me now. Heavy, cold hands on my thighs, and I pinch my eyes shut and try to pull up whatever power I have inside me, whatever means I have to get over this enchantment.

I think of the energy between Crane and me.

I think of its power, of how infinite it made me feel. I focus on that.

And then I use that energy to open my mouth.

And I scream.

The sound reverberates off the walls, and suddenly, I can move. I’m scrambling backward on the bed until my back hits the wall.

And the headless horseman turns to leave. Slowly, as if he’s not in a hurry, not afraid of being caught.

He strides out of the room, picking up the thing he left by the door, and then he’s gone into the house, past the fire, and out the door.

And I’m getting to my feet, I’m grabbing a knife I keep in the drawer of my desk, and I’m running after him to make sure he’s gone, so I can lock the door, as if that will keep him out.

I nearly slip before I reach my own door, something wet and slick beneath my bare feet.

I look down at the floor and see a trail of blood, his footprints still in it.

Chapter 28

Crane

The clock in the library strikes midnight, but it feels like I’m just getting started. I have a stack of books at my side, a bottle of red wine with a metal goblet, and a row of candles lighting my desk like a beacon in the dark. It’s taken me most of the night perusing the stacks, trying to find the right books that can help me figure out Brom, and after rummaging through a few duds, it finally seems I have the most promising ones.

I lay them out in front of me on the desk and have a sip of wine. There’s an old tome called Blood Magic and Other Rituals, one called How to Communicate with the Dead, another called Personal Exorcisms, another worn one called the Book of Verimagiaa. I pick up the one on blood magic first since that’s been on my mind all week. This particular book has an English title but inside is written in Greek. I don’t know Greek.

I sigh and bring out my anointing oil from my pocket, rubbing it on my wrists while I close my eyes and repeat the polyglot spell, which gives the magic wielder the ability to speak and read any language, a godsend when you’re a teacher. Then I open my eyes and turn the page.

A cold breeze comes at my back, making the candles around my desk flicker, threatening to go out. I whip around in my seat. Beyond the glow of my candles, the library is completely empty and dark, the moon hiding somewhere behind the trees. Generally, the library is closed to students after nine p.m., but exceptions are made for teachers. Ms. Albarez, the librarian from Mexico City, said that I could stay here all night if I wanted to, and it might end up being that way. I don’t plan on leaving until I get what I came here for. All my lesson plans for this week have taken up too much of my time as it is. Being a professor at this godforsaken school might be my job, but Kat and Brom have become my obsession.

My eyes scan the library’s crevices and shadows, and I hold my breath, my ears straining to pick up on any errant sounds, any source of the icy wind. There’s nothing. Just the tick of the clock.

I turn back to my books and have another sip of wine. I can’t help but feel there’s something else in the library with me, a presence, but that could be my imagination running wild. It’s been doing a lot of that lately.

My thoughts drift to Kat. My beautiful, sweet witch. As much as my natural curiosity and my ties to Brom have me fixated on getting to the bottom of things, I’m doing this for her more than anything. I want her to have her Brom back, even if it might cost me her heart in the end. I am still jealous of their past; I’m possessive over her mind, body, and soul, but because it’s Brom, because I’ve been inside that man, I am willing to share her with him and only him.

And if he’s not open to sharing, I’m taking her for myself.

An image enters my mind. One of the three of us together, naked and worshipping Kat in all her ethereal beauty. My stiff cock in her wet, soft mouth, full lips enveloping me with gusto, my fists in her messy hair, driving her head forward until I’m crammed down her throat. Behind her is Brom, pumping his hips like an animal, driving into her hard from behind, her breasts swaying with each hit. She moans around my cock, the vibrations making my balls feel heavy, and I lean forward slightly, reaching out for Brom’s neck, placing my hand around it and holding tight. I demand for him to kiss me. He snarls in response, but his eyes tell me that I’m his.

The image fades, and I’m hard as stone. In all my sexual conquests and affairs over the years, I’ve never come close to being in that situation, a ménage. Even that fateful night in San Francisco, before Marie died, I had hoped it might come to that, perhaps as a way to save our marriage, but that was far from the case.

But there is no use fantasizing about something that might not be. What if we can’t get Brom back to his old self and restore his memories? There is no doubt in my mind that he is connected to the Hessian soldier, but in what way?

My body doesn’t care for questions at the moment. I reach down into my trousers, making a fist over my length, hot and already twitching for release. With a groan that seems to fill the library, I lean back in my chair and bring my cock out. I know the tight, hot feel of Kat’s gorgeous pink cunt as I squeeze inside her. I know the velvety glove of Brom’s ass, plied with slick oil. I hear the sound of her breathy moans and the guttural tremors of his deep grunts as I fuck them both with abandon. I want both of them, everywhere. I want to fuck them in every way. I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I want to lick her tiny cunt until she’s screaming while Brom sucks me off with his pretty mouth until I’m shooting my seed down his throat, until he’s so filled with it that it’s spilling out of his lips. He swallows while staring up at me with those deep black eyes.

My orgasm slams into me, taking me by surprise. I cry out hoarsely, my ejaculation spurting out in hot waves onto the books, leaving a sticky white mess.

I chuckle at the results of my fantasy, watching how my seed drips off the volumes and onto the desk. That certainly took me by surprise.

Then I get an idea. Blood magic is one way to form a bond through individuals. The act of sex itself, the exchanging of bodily fluids, is another. What if we were to combine the two? What if we created a ritual where we would mix our blood and seed together, the three of us moving in unison, creating literal magic?

I grab my handkerchief and wipe away my mess from the books before flipping through the pages. Hopefully, the librarian won’t notice the stains. I’m sure I’m not the first witch that’s gotten carried away while reading the books in here—there’s a surprising amount of magic tied to the act of sex itself.

I’m not sure how much time I spend going through the books, but eventually, I find a few promising suggestions. There’s a binding ritual that involves blood and sex magic between the participants who wish to be bound. It seems relatively easy enough with some incantations, certain oils, smudging, and a protective salt circle so that we aren’t inviting any other lurking spirits inside, which could come bound to us in the process.