Sleepy Hollow: Bridge of Bones Page 10
“Where are we going?” Jason asked.
“Spook Rock.”
Spook Rock. He stopped breathing. His mind took a snapshot of the moment—he knew this moment—he’d played and re-played it a thousand times. He and Kate had ridden through this forest before. Through a vision. This was the moment, one of the future moments he’d seen on the dance floor, the first time they’d touched. Riding together down a long trail framed with ravishing autumn leaves. She had pulled the reins, leaning back against his chest for warmth. Sun had rippled overhead. Just like this. He had seen this day. His lips formed Kate’s next words, before she even said them.
“I’ll show it to you. It’s beautiful. People say Spook Rock is the place where the Indians bewitched the Hollow.”
Joy leapt in his heart. This was confirmation. A vision had come to pass. And—so… maybe the other visions of that night would come to pass as well. Maybe this girl would walk down the aisle of the Old Dutch Church someday and be his wife.
He leaned forward and inhaled her scent…
A twig snapped under Gunsmoke’s hoof. Kate’s hard helmet flew straight back and cracked Jason in the nose.
“Ow!”
“You okay?”
“I… um…” He tested his upper lip. His fingers were bloody. He twisted, looking for somewhere to wipe his hand. A branch, a leaf. He lost his balance. Kate grabbed him and they fell sideways together, hitting the ground with a whump. They rolled through twigs and leaves, front-to-front, until Jason’s arm plunged into icy water, stopping them.
“You okay?” he said, looking down at her.
She squirmed away, laughing. “If I had a nickel!” She rose to her feet, brushing herself. “I’ve been falling off Gunsmoke for ages.”
“You’ve got a leaf in your hair.”
She leaned forward. Close enough to kiss, if he dared. “Get it for me?”
He took a moment to memorize the blush of her cheek, pulled the leaf from her hair, and handed it to her.
“Thanks,” she said, twirling the leaf between her fingers. “Ooh. Your nose is really going.”
Kate climbed the slope and tied the horse’s rein around the waist of a birch. Jason knelt over the brook and pulled off his gloves, washing his hands and fingers in the water. Blood trailed away like scarlet smoke.
“That’s appropriate,” said Kate.
“Why?”
“That’s the Gory Brook.”
Jason froze, looking at his reflection in the shallow water. “They call it that?”
“Since the American Revolution. There was a battle here. Halloween, seventeen seventy-six. The Battle of the Gory Brook. They say so many were butchered that the brook ran red. That’s where it gets its name. It feeds the Pocantico…”
Jason didn’t hear the rest. He looked at his hand. What had he done? He had washed his own blood into the Gory Brook, into the waters of Sleepy Hollow. That had not been smart. Not smart at all.
“What’s wrong?” said Kate, returning.
“Nothing,” he said, pulling his glove on. “There’s a lot of crazy history here.”
“You have no idea.” She led him upwards. “Come on—Spook Rock’s up the hill. Be right back, baby!” Gunsmoke shook his head as if he didn’t believe her.
They climbed over rocks and piles of leaves, past a lonely tree tattooed with lovers’ initials, crude hearts encircling T.F.+C.H. and A.D.+J.D. Jason smiled, thinking of Joey’s scribble on the dusty windshield of the Volvo. Maybe it was destiny, after all. Then he frowned and turned away. One set of initials read Z.V.B.+K.U.
“So what’s Spook Rock?” he said.
“You’ll see. When this was Indian country the chiefs held their ceremonies at the site. They were Delaware. Maybe Mohican. There’s all kind of legends about this area. Mother Hulda lived…” Kate stopped and pointed. “…there.”
“Who?”
“The Witch of the Woods. She kept a hut by the Gory Brook. That’s why it’s Witches Spring Trail.”
“You believe all this?” Jason waved an arm over the forest, palm up.
Kate rolled her eyes. “Come on, Mister Skeptic. You’d think by now you’d be on board. I am going to show you a truly magical place.”
She took Jason’s arm and almost pulled it out of its socket.
“Slow up?”
“Right. Your ankle. Watch out. This log is loose.”
Jason picked his way over a brush pile. “There are easier ways to get me alone, you know.”
“Scared I’m going to ravish you in the bushes?”
Jason searched for a snappy comeback. But all he could manage was a weak laugh. “No,” he lied. He was scared. He admitted it to himself. Scared that this might be his one chance at the girl of his dreams, scared that he might ruin it. But Kate spared him that. She did the ruining for him.
“We’re friends, right?”
Hope died in him. He closed his eyes, stumbling over rocks.
She took his hand, sisterly. “Aren’t we friends?”
“I hope so.”
“So… you would tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
She stopped. “What’s going on with Zef?”
“What do you mean?”
“Something’s wrong. I know it. We got into a fight last night.”
“I heard.”
“Sorry.”
“What about?”
“Sex.”
“Do I want to hear this?”
“Do you mind?”
Jason leaned against a tree for support, letting go her hand. “No. Go on. Why not? Yeah. I’m your friend. So… you two had sex.”
“Of course not.” Kate spoke softly, as if embarrassed for the trees to hear. “I wouldn’t do that under your roof. But I admit—I wanted him to at least try. Give me a chance to say no. That’s all I wanted. A chance to say ‘No, Zef, I won’t sleep with you.’”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not ready. But how can I know I’m not ready if he doesn’t try? Maybe I am ready. But if I jump on him he’s got to say yes, right? Because he’s a guy. And then what if we’re not ready? I may be ready and he may be ready but we might not be. And I’m thinking all this—like an idiot—and he’s talking about some movie he wants to go see. I’m playing footsie and, you know, nothing. And I went, like, ‘what’s up? I’m starting to wonder if you even want me.’”
Jason could picture it. “And what did he say?”
“Nothing. He got this look on his face. I can’t describe it. Like he’d spotted a fire he had to put out. And next thing he’s got his shirt off and he’s all over me. Rough. He’s on me and he won’t listen and I’m saying ‘stop Zef! Stop!’”
“Did he stop?”
“No. I pushed him off the bed and got the hell out. He’s never been like that before. You guys live together. You must talk. You’d tell me, wouldn’t you? If something was wrong?”
Jason knew exactly what was wrong. He knew exactly what had happened. Zef had panicked, thinking she was on to him, and he’d overcompensated.
“Jason, what is it?”
He had been afraid of this. A direct question deserved a direct answer. He couldn’t lie.
“Kate. Zef is—”
“What?”
He couldn’t say the words. Any words. Zef is gay. Zef is your gay boyfriend. Zef is not into girls. Zef is in the closet. Zef is lying. Zef is scared. Zef is miserable.
“Zef is—what?” she asked.
He had to finish the sentence. It hung in the air between them. Tell her! Break them up! But he knew what would happen. She’d turn around and march back to civilization. She’d confront Zef. He’d deny it. She’d wear him down into a confession. He’d cry. She’d cry. And every time she looked at Jason she’d remember the day he spilled the beans and broke her heart. He’d lose her for good.
“Zef is—not my friend,” Jason said finally. “He doesn’t tell me squat.”
She nodded. “So. No ideas?”
<
br /> He shook his head, lying by gesture seemed better than lying out loud.
She kissed Jason’s cheek. “You’re a good listener.” She walked on and he followed, feeling guilty. “I’m sure we’ll work it out. After all, I know I’ll be marrying Zef someday. I saw it. Zef was waiting for me at the altar of the Old Dutch Church. And my Gift never lies. Hey! I think we’re here.”
She pushed Jason through the bushes and into the presence of Spook Rock.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Spook Rock”
He stumbled into a clearing bordered by a ring of trees—older, more venerable trees than any he’d seen before. Trees from another time, another land: their roots could drink water from Middle-Earth, their branches could twist through Neverland, their boughs could sway above the Forest Moon of Endor. Watchful and secretive, even sorcerous trees. Spook Rock waited in the center—no mistaking it—a mammoth stone from some prehistoric age. A fragment of ancient Pangea, or Lemuria. Millions of years ago, glaciers had scooped it up, dragged it across North America, and had dropped it here—in Westchester County, twenty-five miles north of the Plaza Hotel and FAO Schwartz. The place felt… eternal. He could imagine witches living in this wood, old medicine women picking mushrooms and wild herbs. Had Ichabod ever visited this spot? Had Katrina? Had Washington Irving hiked these woods, found this place, and shivered with spooky delight?
“Can you feel it?” said Kate.
Jason neared the rock. “My hands feel warm.”
“The stone can sense your Gift.”
He raised his gloved hands. “It’s like a campfire. I feel it on my palms.”
She shook her head and slipped to the ground. “It’s working then. Damn it.”
“Why damn it?”
She leaned against the rock. “Because I don’t feel anything.”
“You don’t?”
“I hoped you wouldn’t either. I think I actually have lost my Gift. And—don’t be defensive—I think it has something to do with you.”
“Because of our swap?” He joined her. The stone purred against his back.
She nodded. “Because of our Gift-swap on the dance floor. I haven’t experienced a single vision since then. But you have, right?”
“Lots.”
“How many?”
“I’ve lost count. How many is normal?”
“Four or five a month.”
“Four or five? A month?”
“More if you’re strong and focused.”
“I’ve had that many in an hour. I can hardly take my gloves off.”
“Since the Spirit Dance.”
He thought back. “Yeah, I guess so. And since Halloween. I get visions from almost everything. I’m always thinking about it. That chair. That dish. That lamppost. I’m obsessed with things. The world’s turned into Swiss cheese. It’s full of holes. Anything I touch is a doorway to somewhere else. So I’m scared to touch—everything. It’s all live wires and hot stoves to me now.”
“That’s not normal. You have to know that’s not normal.”
“You grew up with this stuff, not me.”
“But it’s past visions, right? You’re not still borrowing my Gift?”
“Past visions only.”
“Are you lying to me?”
“No,” he said tensely. But you did lie to her. Not ten minutes ago. About Zef. You liar. You rotten stinking liar. “Except for the few future visions I had when we swapped.”
“And those future visions were—”
“None of your business. You still haven’t told me what you saw that night.”
“Fair enough.”
“Except for those, I’ve only seen through my own hands using my own Gift.”
Jason had to shake his head. He sounded ludicrous to himself. How had he swallowed this stuff so completely, so quickly? He hadn’t. It had swallowed him. “I didn’t do anything to you, Kate.”
“I believe you.” She rested a hand on his knee.
They sat in silence, leaning on Spook Rock. It pulsed against his back, in rhythm with his heart. He fought an urge to press his palms to it and steal its mysteries.
“So is that all you brought me here for?” he said. “To ask about Zef and see if the rock still worked?”
Kate took her hand away. “This fundraiser for my father’s campaign. Was it your idea?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. You need to watch out.”
“For what?”
She stood and paced, hands in pockets, avoiding his eyes.
“Right now, you’re a free agent. Nobody knows what you can do except me and Joey. That’s rare. You’ve got space to find your own path. Without everybody watching you or controlling you.”
“How many of them—us—are there?”
“A few handfuls of families. We used to be all over but we’re kind of… dying out. The secrecy issue makes it hard for us to find each other, hard to find people to marry and the like. So we congregate in a few obvious places. Salem. Sleepy Hollow.”
“Transylvania?”
“Don’t be stupid. There’s no monsters. Just… people.”
“And ghosts.”
“Ghosts are people. They were.” She held her arms out. “That’s all there is. People and the Spirit World. And places in between. Magic places. Haunted places. Like this. We gravitate to towns where we can stick together.”
“It sounds nice.”
“It can be smothering. We have factions. Not all of us want to get by in peace. Some of us—my father is one—say we need to be more aggressive. Increase our numbers. Take charge of things. Politics, finance. Fix the world. People listen. They think they’re special. They don’t call themselves The Gifted. They call themselves The Appointed. As if God singled them out to rule.” She slipped to the ground again, facing him. “My dad’s a good man. He just thinks he knows what’s best for everybody. And you’ll be meeting his crowd.”
“At the fundraiser.”
She nodded. “It will be mixed. Mostly normals. But I’ll point out the dangerous ones. My father employs a man named Mather. You can’t miss him. He has purple eyes. Mather is… like this rock. He’ll be able to sense you. If you want to stay a free agent, you’ll need to avoid him.”
“Or else what? They’ll want to recruit me?”
“You’re Ichabod’s descendant. Ichabod was attacked and survived—a potential Founder. They’re already watching you.”
“I’m no good to anyone.”
“You don’t believe that. Neither do I.” She knelt and pushed the hair out of his eyes. “What am I going to do with you, Jason Crane?”
Love me, he thought. He felt himself lean forward. They would kiss, here in this sacred place, beneath the stars…
Stars?
Stars?!
“What time is it?” Jason jumped to his feet. “We need to go.”
“Why?”
A firefly swept the air, flared yellow-green, and died.
“What’s wrong?” She followed his gaze and gasped.
Fireflies swam in every dark crevasse. Faces coalesced where the lights hovered. Bloodless, bodiless—faces of crones and young boys and stern men. Emaciated, hale, wounded, vacant, menacing, piteous. Their eyes swam in the bushes, peered from secret pockets of gathering night, from beneath sheaves of bracken and fallen leaf. From beneath stone, from the depths of the earth, bodies took form, slowly—military uniforms, bonnets, black lace, crepe, shrouds, winding sheets.
Sleepy Hollow Cemetery had disgorged its dead, and that grand army of spirits now made camp at Spook Rock, to await orders from their leader.
A laugh chopped the wood of the forest.
Jason had heard that laugh before.
He squeezed Kate’s hand.
“Run.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“The Red Carpet”
He pushed Kate ahead and out of the clearing. She half-fell down the hill, easily outpacing him. He followed as best he could, limping on h
is injured ankle.
“Don’t wait for me!” he shouted.
He waved her on but she returned for him, threw an arm around his waist, and helped him through the brush. They hurtled forward, losing their footing as they gained momentum. A specter with vacant eyes stepped into their path. Kate pushed through the spirit as through a curtain of cobwebs. Jason’s skin burned where he brushed the thing—as if he’d touched a stinging nettle. They reached the bottom of the hill and found the birch trees but saw no sign of the horse.
“Gunsmoke?!” Kate cried, turning circles.
“Are you sure this is it?”
A strap of leather hung from the waist of the tree. The horse had broken away. It had been spooked, probably, by the things in the forest.
“Oh. Gunsmoke,” Kate said.
“You said the stream feeds the river? We can follow it back to town.”
She nodded and grabbed his hand, helping him along. He kept one eye on the brook and one on the woods. He expected a hatchet to swing from a shadow at any moment. He had to be prepared to duck, to push Kate down, to—
Kate stopped. Jason slammed into her and they tumbled sideways, falling on stones.
“Why—” he gasped, “why did you—”
Her eyes were wide. Jason scanned the ground ahead. A yellow sneaker lay on the near side of the water. What was so scary about a shoe?
They’d fallen next to an ancient oak. It grew alongside the water, its roots creeping into the brook to drink from it. A thick branch protruded from the trunk, about ten feet up. It extended over the water, ending in a sharp point. A man hung there, speared through the chest, upside-down, one leg tucked behind the other, his eyes open and his arms reaching for them.
Jason’s breath caught. He glanced at Kate. Her eyes were riveted on the thing. A black hole opened in her cheek. No. Not a hole. Her hand came up and rubbed the spot, smearing it.
Blood.
She recoiled, crawled to the brook and splashed her face with water. She rubbed the spot, over and over. He knelt at her side and put a hand on her shoulder. She went still, hands outstretched, dripping. “Bleeding in the waters…” she said, as if announcing it to her own reflection.