Page 91 of Hollow

And then there’s a more intense ritual that must take place at night during the full moon. That one has to be by a body of water, which permits easier passage to the veils, and given what Kat and I did by the lake, that won’t be a problem to access. This ritual isn’t so much about binding as it is about an exorcism. If the horseman is possessing Brom, he will need to be expelled for him to finally become free. Even better if it happens on Samhain.

Of course, they say it’s possible the first binding ritual will be enough. If it’s strong, then it might force the horseman to leave anyway. Our connection to each other might sever him, especially if Kat and I are able to manipulate our energy through Brom.

The only problem is everyone involved has to be willing. Which means Brom has to be willing. If he doesn’t remember our relationship before, then I’m not sure if he’ll want to open up to me in that way, so to speak. I suppose that will have to be Kat’s job, unless I see an opportunity for persuasion.

I take out my quill pen and ink and start jotting down notes in my book, including as many details as possible. I finish the rest of the bottle of wine, then go through the book on types of spirits. By now, the moon has risen above the trees, casting a faint glow into the library, not enough to light it but enough to deepen those shadows.

Eventually, I come across an interesting passage about retrieval spirits. They aren’t always easy to conjure—you often have to have one that wants to be used in some way. Often, these spirits are angry or have done terrible things since that malevolent energy is what keeps them bound to the earthly realm, unwilling to move on through the rest of the veils. A witch can summon these spirits to retrieve people who have gone missing or have run away, with the spirit finding and possessing the person and physically bringing them back.

Could that have happened to Brom? His parents, or Sarah, or the coven, did they conjure the Hessian and send him on a mission to find Brom and bring him back? And if so, was it because they were worried about him or for some nefarious purpose?

I keep reading, my heart thudding in my head as I’m filled with that enigmatic feeling I’m always chasing, that high that’s greater than any opium, that sense of being on the edge of discovering something. The text goes on to say that in rare cases, the spirit might refuse to leave the person. In even rarer cases, the spirit can hold a tether to both the corporeal body and their ethereal body, possessing the former at will but only after dark. The spirit can influence the host, or the host can influence the spirit.

That has to be it, I think. That has to be what’s happened to Brom. And if it’s not, I can at least use that as a starting point for this diagnosis.

Eager to learn more, I continue reading, turning the pages until I feel that cold wind buffet my back again.

The candles flicker indignantly.

“No, no, no,” I cry out softly, pleading for them to stay lit, even as the wind snuffs them out for good. I’m plunged into a mix of smoke and darkness.

I twist around in my seat just in time to see the front doors to the library slam shut behind me. Even in the dark, I can see the tall figure standing between me and the exit. The air fills with the smell of sulfur and rot.

The Hessian soldier strides toward me, his heavy boots echoing on the floor. The world seems to bend to his favor, power and energy churning through the air. I feel my cells respond to him in the same way, a sickening sense of want and desire alongside debilitating fear that has my stomach clenching, my body frozen in place.

Then my gaze drops to his hands where he’s carrying a man’s head, blood dripping as he comes toward me. He tosses it on the floor, and it rolls ahead of him for a bit before teetering off to the side.

I should run. I should get behind the desk. I should grab my anointing oil and chant repelling words, anything to keep him at bay.

But I can’t.

Because I’m fascinated.

And curiosity is what killed the cat.

In this mystery that’s been wrapping around us, the headless horseman is the cog in the wheel. If I could disarm him here and now, then Brom could go free, go back to being the Abe that I knew.

“I’m not afraid of you!” I yell at him as he marches toward me. “I know what you are! I know who you are!”

The horseman lifts his other hand, an ax that gleams from the faint moonlight that comes in through the windows.

He aims to chop off my head.

I should probably move.

I scramble, going behind the desk just in time as he brings the ax down, slicing both the desk and the books down the middle.

The problem with a man with no head is that he can’t communicate with you. It’s a very one-sided relationship. I think about Kat and how she’s able to speak to the animals and wish there was something I could learn from that, but I doubt that will happen before my head is hacked off here in the school library.

“I know you can hear me, Brom!” I cry out. “I know you’re tethered to him and him to you!”

Which means the reason he’s here is because of Kat.

Because he wants me out of the picture.

“She doesn’t just belong to you,” I say as the horseman picks up the ax again and strides powerfully around the desk toward me. “She belongs to me. And I belong to you too.”

The horseman doesn’t seem to care for my blathering, his presence an unstoppable force.