Chapter 28 #2
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.
“Fuck,” I swear, reaching into my other coat pocket for a vial of salt rumored to be from the lost city of Atlantis. I take it out and uncork it, tossing the salt at him just as he’s about to swing the ax again.
The white granules hit him and fizzle, steam rising, and the Hessian lets out an inhuman roar despite not having a face. He waves his arms around in distress, and for a moment, I think it’s enough to keep him at bay. He is a spirit, after all.
But then he keeps on walking as I race around yet another desk, my hands patting down my coat, trying to find something else I can use.
I have nothing but words.
Nothing but my own energy.
I put my hands out.
“Non potes me nocere!” I command.
You can’t hurt me.
The headless horseman pauses.
“Me tangere non potes!” I yell.
You cannot touch me.
He comes to a stop, raising his arms as if shielding himself.
I know that spirit words don’t last forever; it’s just a spell, a temporary bandage for the witch to get to higher ground. But here, I will take what I can. If I run now, he’ll only catch up with me. The trick is to convince him not to kill me.
“You know who I am, Brom!” I yell. “You remember, deep down in that secret shadow side of you. You remember what we had together!”
The horseman straightens up, marching toward me again, and I back up until my back hits a wall of books.
Nowhere to go.
Nothing to protect me but my magic and my wits.
The horseman stops right in front of me, the stench of sulfur overwhelming, a sense of chaos taking over.
His body is so hard, his cloak and armor seeming to swallow the world with its darkness.
He presses it against mine, like he aims to crush my bones first before removing my head, the wall of books unyielding.
I’m staring right at his missing head. He’s got at least five inches on me, if not more, making him taller than seven feet.
The wound there looks cauterized, red and grimly glowing.
The closer I look, the more it seems like something is wriggling in the stump.
I avert my eyes, not wanting that to be the last thing I ever see.
One of his hands goes to the top of my head to make a fist, yanking on my hair.
“You know that’s not how this works,” I tell him, my voice shaking, but I don’t care if he knows how terrified I am. I’ll do what I have to do to reach him.
I manage to buck my hips against his with the little leverage I have, even as he keeps his fist in my hair.
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” I say with a sneer. “That’s why you’re here. Not to kill me. Not to have my head. Because you remember what I gave to you. Don’t you, pretty boy?”
The horseman stills at the use of his nickname.
I know he remembers.
I reach down with my hand, squeezing it between his crotch and mine, flipping my wrist around so that my palm is pressed against his cock.
“This is what you want,” I whisper harshly, my grip tightening over him. He’s extremely long and hard and huge; my hand feels small in comparison. But he’s aroused by this, pressing his hips against my hand and grinding.
“I can give you what you want,” I say hoarsely, keeping my eyes away from his missing head. “I can give you what you’ve forgotten about. What you won’t let yourself think about. I know you want me, Brom. I see it in you.”
The horseman stills again. I grip his cock tighter, rubbing faster over the leather pad at his groin.
“Want to beg me to let you come?” I go on. “You know I love it when you beg. You know I’m good with my promises.”
He lets go of my hair.
I think he might just come right here.
But he staggers backward instead.
Turns away and starts marching toward the doors, his cloak flowing behind him as he goes, boots echoing with each hard step. He passes by the decapitated head and kicks it backward with his boot so it goes bouncing toward me.
Then he pushes the doors open and disappears into the night.
My legs threaten to give out, and I slide down to the floor, my hand at my chest as if to keep my heart in place.
I’ve never been so close to death before.
He had come here to kill me.
And yet I was able to reach him, enough to get him to stop, enough to even scare him. He’s scared of his own feelings for me, feelings for a man, sexual or otherwise.
But I know what it’s like to feel that way. How complicated it gets. How those complications lead to confusion and how that leads to anger and that anger can lead to violence.
I think about Marie.
I think about the night I found out she was having her affair with our neighbor Ray.
About how for so long I had tried to bury my attraction to him. How angry I was that she was able to cheat on me with him.
I think about how I went to visit Ray, how I confronted him like any angry husband would.
And how that anger morphed and changed.
Because I wanted Marie. But I wanted Ray more.
And coming to terms with that meant tackling everything the church and my pastor father had taught me was wrong while growing up.
Sometimes you can’t face the fire until you’re pushed right into the flames.
I get to my feet quickly, panic taking hold of me.
Because I know how Brom feels, I know what he’s going to do.
I know who he’s going to seek out.
He’s going to go after Kat.
Unless he’s already seen her first.