Chapter 4
Crane
Three weeks ago
I’m being followed. I’m sure of it.
The moment I stepped out of the building, a shadow moved off the brick wall on Mott Street, lurching toward me out of the corner of my eye. I turned around to face my attacker, thinking it was a thief preying on those coming out of the opium joints, seeing an easy target to rob.
But there was no one there except a lone carriage rolling down the street and the sound of garbage bins rattling in a nearby alleyway. The rest of the city was sleeping.
I kept walking, the drug starting to leave my system.
The August air was sticky even at night, but it felt fresh in my lungs, and I was taking gulps of it as I went, as if I hadn’t taken a breath in weeks.
I knew it was a matter of time before the opium wore off completely and I would have to face the ruins of my life again, but for now, I was fine.
I was an anonymous man with no future and no past, just footsteps echoing down the empty streets of Manhattan at three in the morning.
But then my footsteps were joined by another.
Coming closer, closer.
I whirled around and saw nothing there.
Nothing except the movement of a puddle, as if something had just splashed through it.
I walk faster, breaking a sweat, and I feel nearly sober now.
I’m just a minute from my hotel room, and though I have this nasty tingling at the back of my neck like I’m being watched, I feel I might be safe once I’m inside.
My room is just a dirty hole-in-the-wall, but at least I’m surrounded by other dirty holes-in-the-wall.
“Ichabod,” a female voice whispers from behind me. It’s like it reaches into my chest and grabs my heart, stopping me dead. It sounds so much like Marie…
“Ichabod Crane,” the voice says again, but now it sounds rough and low and vaguely sinister.
I slowly turn my head.
There’s a cloaked woman standing behind me.
She doesn’t have a face.
No eyes. No nose. Just a thin line for a mouth.
Lord Almighty.
“Ahh!” I cry out, trying to bury my scream and failing, raising my arm as if to shelter myself from the sight of her.
But with the pass of my arm, I see her again, and now she does have a face.
Of course she does. For heaven’s sake, I think I smoked too much tonight.
“Ichabod Crane,” she says once more, and now her voice changes yet again.
It’s lighter, softer, and when she takes a step into the light of the gas lamp, I can see her more clearly.
She’s old but of an indeterminate age, with smooth, even white skin with deep lines framing her eyes and mouth.
Her lips are red and wet, like she just bit her lip, and her eyes are a bright green flecked with gold that seems to dance under the light.
It’s her eyes that make her seem younger than she is.
She also has an aura about her that I can’t place. It’s constantly shifting in color, disappearing completely at times.
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 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… 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 who 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 farther 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?
How much did she really know?
I exhale, trying to urge my heart to calm down. I open my eyes. Even in the dark, my room is a disaster. Clothes on the floor, my bed unmade, and a plate of half-eaten roast chicken that I had gotten down the street sits on the windowsill.
For a moment, I see my life through her eyes. For a moment, I see where I started and see how far I’ve fallen. For a moment, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake in walking away.
Then, a shadow moves away from the wall.
I open my mouth, and a scream dies in my throat. It’s not just that I couldn’t find the strength to scream but that my voice was taken from me. Stolen from my throat.
“Quiet,” the woman hisses. “Do you want to wake up your neighbors? Do you want them to know what you are? A troublemaker and a drug addict is something this lurid city will accept. A witch is not.”
She steps away from the wall, and the lamps around us flicker to life, casting the room in moving shadows. I swear I see eyes in those shadows, watching me. Black snakes that writhe in and out of my vision.
“What do you want from me?” I manage to say.
“I want you at Sleepy Hollow Institute,” she says, pressing her thin hands together in a motion of prayer. “Your background plus your magic makes you a top contender as a schoolmaster.”
I frown. “Sleepy Hollow Institute?”
“I don’t blame you for not knowing what it is.”
“Oh, I know what it is,” I say, letting out a deep breath. My shoulders drop slightly now that she’s mentioned a place that actually exists, not a mystical hut in the woods. “A lot of brilliant minds have come from there…or so your school’s propaganda wants people to think.”
She gives me a grin that isn’t exactly kind. “Because it’s true. We do brilliant things with brilliant people.”
I stare at her for a moment, trying to think. Despite the fright I’ve had, the opium is still in my veins. “What do these brilliant people have to do with magic and witchcraft?”
Her grin widens. For a moment, her teeth look razor-sharp, but again, it’s just a trick of the light, just as the snakes in the shadows are. Just as they have to be, or I will lose my mind.
“The students are brilliant because they are disposed to magic. Don’t fret, Mr. Crane.
Everyone who passes the curriculum ends up with a degree.
They go on and do great things in the world.
They were all such misfits, misanthropes, miscreants at the beginning, you see.
Kicked around by the world because they felt different, were different. ”
She gives a sympathetic cluck of her tongue.
“But at our school, they are transformed into the best versions of themselves. The students there are allowed to shine. To discover who they really are and unleash their true potential. And the longer you’re there, the more the same will happen for you.
We’re offering you a salary, plus room and board, and you only need to commit to one year.
After a year, you are free to leave if you wish.
But I’ll warn you. You’ll never want to leave Sleepy Hollow.
Once you are one with us, you’ll want to stay for life. ”
It all sounds too good to be true. Well, I suppose it also sounds a little extreme. If I’ve learned anything about myself, it’s that I don’t stay in one place for too long. She should know that about me too, considering.
“How much is the salary?” I ask warily. I hate that this is starting to appeal to me. The idea of being a teacher again, having students worship your every word. I’ve missed that feeling of control and power, akin to feeling like a god. A poor man’s god, but a god nonetheless.
“Fifteen dollars a week,” she says. “Sixteen for the second year.”
I chew on that, my heart leaping with temptation. That’s over twice the rate across the country. “And the housing?”
“You’d be in the men’s faculty dorm. Your own accommodations.
Room with a view of the lake. Your own private bathroom and toilet.
Delightful meals served daily.” She says this while eyeing my half-eaten chicken meal with disdain.
Then she looks back to me, her eyes glimmering.
“You were a disciplined teacher who brought out the best from his students because you demanded the best from them. You made them rise above once, and you will make them rise above again. This doesn’t have to be your life, Mr. Crane.
You don’t have to live like this. You can choose to live anew. You can choose magic above all else.”
“Magic,” I scoff. I gesture to my messy deck of tarot cards by my bedside. “That’s my magic. Not much else.”
“You can bestow energy,” she says. When I look at her in surprise, she nods and goes on.
“Yes, I know what’s happened to you, but I can also see what’s in you that no one else can.
That, most importantly, you can’t see. But I see your potential.
I know that you can give someone else energy at no expense to yourself.
We call that bestowal. It’s very rare and so important as a teacher. ”
Bestowal. I finally have a word for it.
A flashback of me touching Marie slams into my head, the look of shock and betrayal on her face, and then the scene fades.
“And what about your divination?” she goes on, smiling still.
“You deride your tarot cards, but you can see futures, especially the futures of others. They’re vague, but they’re there.
And what if there’s more locked inside you?
What if there is so much more just waiting to come out, simmering below the surface?
Enough with the drugs, trying to dim that light inside you.
I know this world doesn’t want to accept you as you are, and I know you use opium and alcohol to hide it, to escape from it, to try to make your brain blend in.
But you weren’t put on this earth by Goruun to blend in.
You were put here to shine. You were put here to help others. ”
“Goruun?” I ask. I’ve never heard that word before.
A solemn look comes over her eyes. “You will find out more once you agree to the job.”
I rub my hand over my jaw, suddenly feeling the weight of the world on me. I’m crashing, whether this witch woman is here or not. My eyelids flutter, feeling heavy.
“I will be back,” she says, stepping forward.
She reaches out and places her hand against my cheek, and I flinch at the feeling.
Her skin isn’t cold nor hot, but it stings like a paper cut.
“You need to rest before you can make such a life-changing decision. Because, believe me, it will change your life. Forever.”
She removes her hand, and I stumble away from the door as she opens it, the locks magically coming undone.
There will be no keeping this woman out, I think wearily.
“My name is Leona Van Tassel,” she says with a nod. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ichabod Crane.”
Then she steps out into the dark hall and disappears, the shadows swallowing her whole.