Sleepy Hollow: Bridge of Bones Read online

  Kate and her father sat cross-legged by the tree, facing each other like two shamans.

  “Your turn,” said Usher, passing her a bulky gift.

  “I give up. You win.”

  “No quitting.”

  “You’re four for four and I’m at zero. I don’t have a chance.”

  “Play it out.”

  “Fine.” Kate pressed her palms to the wrapping. She closed her eyes but nothing came. “A sweater,” she mumbled.

  “A sweater? You’re not even trying.”

  “A yellow sweater with a V-neck,” said Kate. Her father shook his head, frowning at her. She sighed and ripped the gift open. Leather boots.

  “Is everything okay?” Usher said. “You should be stronger, not weaker.”

  “I’m tired, is all.”

  “After a run-in with the Horseman? Your Gift should have doubled.”

  “It’s your turn.” She handed him a small package.

  His hand closed on it. “Wristwatch,” he said immediately. “Vintage. Art deco. Brown strap. Thank you, baby.”

  He kissed her cheek.

  “Open it, at least.”

  He opened the box and held the watch to the fire, admiring it. “You’ve got one turn left,” he said.

  “I’m done. You win. Game, set, and match.”

  “Five presents each, that’s the rule. You don’t want to completely wash out, do you?” He drew a small blue box from his pocket. “How about this one?”

  She sighed. She’d always loved their Christmas game. This year she hated it. He was getting suspicious. She knew she’d eventually have to tell him that she’d lost her Gift, but she didn’t want to get into it today.

  He placed the box in her hand. Maybe she could guess the contents? The box was light. Jewelry probably. It looked like wrapping from a jewelry store. She struggled to see the future of the present, to see herself opening it, discovering its contents. It shouldn’t be hard. She only had to look a minute ahead. Just a minute. Why was it dark? Why had everything gone dark?

  “I don’t know,” she said, frustrated. “Earrings?”

  “Let’s see. Open it.”

  She pulled the paper aside, hoping to be right, even if by blind chance. The box contained a silver pendant in the shape of an eagle feather, trimmed in turquoise.

  “It’s pretty,” she said. “Thank you, Daddy.”

  “It’s not from me. It came to the door. Who’s it from? Zef?”

  Kate searched for a card but came up empty. She turned the feather over and saw engraving on the back.

  For the Star-Maiden of Spook Rock.

  “Yeah,” Kate said, putting it away hurriedly. “From Zef.”

  “Try it on.”

  “Later.”

  “I want to see it.”

  She nodded and scooted around. Usher rose to his knees and helped her with the clasp.

  “It’s pretty,” he said. “Not Zef’s style, though. He always buys you such girly things. Sure it’s from him?”

  “Who else?”

  Usher slipped a small card over her shoulder. “I forgot. This came too.”

  Kate took the card but didn’t read it.

  “Kate,” Usher said, his voice heavy with authority. “What’s going on between you and the Crane boy?”

  “Nothing. He’s a friend.”

  “Just a friend?”

  “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “Of course not. But does Zef know that you’re just friends?”

  “Of course. He and Jason live together.”

  “You know how fond I am of Zef. Has something changed?” Usher said, suspiciously. His hand closed on her arm.

  “Turn loose. That hurts.”

  He released her, instantly apologetic, and softened. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry. I’m… on edge. All the double stump days and damn speeches. And I worry about you.” He brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek. “You almost got killed. My brave girl, facing the Horseman alone.”

  Kate glanced away.

  “You were alone, right? That’s what you told Red.”

  “Carlos was there,” She rose. “How about some hot chocolate?”

  “For the Star-Maiden of Spook Rock,” said Usher, standing. His figure blocked the firelight. Kate backed into the Christmas tree. An ornament fell and broke on the floor.

  “Daddy, look what you made me do.” She knelt and swept the pieces into her palm.

  “Did you take the Crane boy to the rock?”

  “No.”

  “To the stables?”

  “No.”

  “Are you cheating on Zef?”

  “Daddy! Back off.”

  “Are you?”

  “No.”

  “That’s not a ‘friend’ gift.”

  “So? Jason has a crush. It’s one-sided.”

  “Don’t encourage it. Why did you take him up there?”

  “I—I wanted to know if he might be one of us. I took him to the rock to see if he felt anything.”

  Usher raised an eyebrow. “And did he?”

  “No.”

  “He’s a normal then?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. I was only trying to do some recruiting for you. I failed. Happy?”

  “That’s all there was to it?”

  Kate picked up an empty box and dumped the shards of the ornament inside. Tiny flecks of green sparkled on her palm. She brushed them away. “I love Zef.”

  “I know you do. He’s your future. He’s Mister Kate.”

  “Don’t call him that.”

  He drew her near and kissed her forehead. “You called him that first.”

  “I know. I know. But I’m sorry I told you.”

  “Always tell me your visions. So I can help them come true. Zef’s a good match. He has a Gift. Mather’s seen it. It’s buried in him but it’s there. He will be a good Mister Kate. Unless you know any other Gifted boys your age?”

  “No.”

  “God help me if you fell for a normal. I’d disown you. Imagine. Little blind grandchildren running around, making us hide all the time. I’d go mad from it. Zef will do nicely. Zef is appropriate.”

  “I don’t like being pushed into things.”

  “You can’t fight the future. And let’s not fight each other, either. Not on Christmas.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’ve missed you.”

  The air went out of the argument. “I’ve missed you too.”

  “One more present,” said Usher.

  “What?”

  He drew her to the window. In the driveway sat a red Ferrari with a big white bow. He produced a set of keys. “Try not to blow this one up.” He kissed her cheek. “Nothing’s too good for my little girl.”

  Kate took the keys from him. “And what if I were a normal? Would I still be your little girl?”

  Her father laughed. “Of course you would. But you wouldn’t be an Usher.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “The Quarry”

  Thundersnow!

  Local weather reporters relished the word. Thundersnow! A thunderstorm of snow, a booming blizzard, as if Thor and Zeus had met in the skies above the Hollow to settle their differences with a bowling tournament. Drifts rose. Tree limbs cracked. Electrical cables sighed and snapped. Steep Tarrytown avenues became sledding hills. Drivers slid along, knuckles white, trying desperately not to spin into the Hudson.

  At night, a banshee wind howled and shook the trees. The sound of falling limbs galloped across the valley. Children lit nightlights, praying for protection from the ghostly hooves and cracking laughter, from the disfigured shadows outside the window, from the voices that whispered—come out, come out, play in the snow—sleep under icy drifts. Float in frozen culverts. Lose warmth. Lose life. Come and join the cold people…

  The blizzard continued throughout the week. Trash collection came to a stop. Pipes froze. Electricity went out. The temperature plummeted. Hazard lights blinked, like the eyes of wolves, all the way up Broadway, from Manhat
tan to Fort Orange.

  The fever of ice broke on the morning of December thirty-first. The sky finally cleared. Road crews and trash men emerged as if to look for their shadows. The sidewalks filled with brown footprints, with girls in rabbit fur and boys in knit caps, with Jets jackets, with paper coffee cups, with mittens and pom-poms and beards “just until spring.” Misshapen snowmen sprouted in Patriots Park. Doctors splinted old women and dispensed calcium supplements. Fathers trudged out of doors to scrape and shovel, to commiserate across frozen hedges, to sigh and bend and risk heart attacks—to chisel their epitaphs across the marble ground.

  Hadewych pulled into a parking lot and idled the Mercedes behind the Sleepy Hollow Country Club.

  “Do you have everything?”

  Zef drew a duffel from the floorboards. “Of course.”

  “Your racket?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Your new Adidas?”

  “On my feet.”

  “Goggles?”

  “I’ve played squash before.”

  “Not with Paul. Impressions are—”

  “I’ll be Prince Charming.”

  “Raise your arm.”

  “Let me go in, please?”

  Hadewych leaned over and sniffed Zef. “No deodorant?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Good.”

  Zef rolled his eyes. “I’m not an idiot. I know all about his allergies. God. I’ve spent more time with the man than you have.”

  Hadewych took Zef by the chin. “I know. But you’re this close. Son-in-law to a U.S. senator? That’s your future. Made. You can’t cock this up.”

  “I won’t. I will love squash. I’ll say ‘yes sir’ and ‘no sir’ and ‘good shot sir’ and laugh at his jokes. I’ll like that creepy Mather guy and that Dexter lunk whose ears don’t match. I won’t embarrass you.”

  “And let Paul win.”

  “Obviously.”

  “But not obviously.”

  “Fine.”

  “And don’t track snow inside.”

  “Can I go in now?”

  “Dexter should drive you home by four. You’ll need time to dress for the party and you should have a nap first. We’ll be up past midnight.”

  Zef adopted a little boy voice. “Midnight? Gee whiz! That’s way past my sleepytime!”

  Hadewych pulled Zef close and kissed the top of his head. “I love you.”

  “Yeah.”

  Zef jumped out of the Mercedes, slung the duffel over his shoulder, and shut the door—too hard, almost slamming it. Hadewych watched as all his hopes and dreams strode across the parking lot and disappeared around a corner without looking back.

  He shifted the Mercedes into drive. He should get back to Gory Brook. He didn’t like to leave Jason alone in the house but he couldn’t allow Zef to drive on these roads. An ambulance pulled out of Phelps Memorial Hospital and onto Broadway, cutting him off. Hadewych slowed, grumbling to himself. Ambulance drivers are so inconsiderate. A bright yellow snowplow pulled up on the left, throwing ice. That annoyed him as well. Don’t you people know how much a car like this costs? Be more careful, you minimum-wage retards! He switched on his wipers.

  He’d turned. By some impulse he’d swung onto Fremont Road, into Sleepy Hollow Manor. He knew the neighborhood. His ex-wife had lived here when they first met. With her parents. Martha and Stephen Bridge. In… that house. Or had it been that one? The houses looked identical in the snow, these middle-class mansions. Yes, mansions. Hardly any of them would sell for less than a million, even in this market. Many of them overlooked the Hudson or abutted Peabody Park and Fremont Pond. Sleepy Hollow Manor may not be as expensive and prosperous as the Philipse Manor neighborhood to the south but the homes here were still well beyond the reach of any average man.

  But I’m no average man. Not anymore. Hadewych Van Brunt is a millionaire now.

  He knew it wasn’t true. The Pyncheon fortune wasn’t his, not yet, but he relished the words. Hadewych Van Brunt. Millionaire. He still didn’t know exactly how large the estate was. He’d only scratched the surface of the old woman’s holdings. Aside from the Legacy itself, her stock accounts and bond accounts and bank accounts and property trusts were vast and bewildering. After a lifetime of dodging bill collectors and searching for grocery change beneath sofa cushions, he now controlled more money than he’d ever dreamed possible.

  I could buy this entire neighborhood, he thought. Snap my fingers and buy it. I can do anything I want as long as I can justify it to the court.

  He circled the pond and parked. The water was frozen solid, buried in ice. Twiggy branches cracked across the robin’s-egg blue of the sky. The clap of his door startled a pair of geese: they took flight in opposite directions, wings beating wildly, as if to escape not him but each other. Hadewych’s boots stomped across the face of the drifts. The cold air bit his ears and snaked up his nostrils. He climbed a low rail fence, weather-worn and many-splintered. He rested against the far side and gazed at Fremont Pond. This was where he’d proposed. His right thumb strayed to his left ring finger and circled it absentmindedly. The wind had died, bringing silence. A bird whistled for a mate, a half dozen staccato chirps, and waited for a reply. It didn’t come.

  I’m glad she left. Things are simpler now. I have Zef to myself. I can do the things that have to be done. It’s better this way. Look at how well things are going.

  An outcrop of stone caught his attention. It was eight feet high at least, high enough to stretch its shadow across the field and touch the frozen water. He shuffled across the wastes and brushed snow from the face of the rock.

  Grey rock.

  Van Brunt Quarry Stone.

  This had been the site of Brom’s quarry, once. Up until eighteen-sixty or so. The open pit had been partially filled since then, leaving the depression of the pond as the only reminder that the Van Brunt Quarry had been here. This had been the source of their fortune and the foundation of their name. Brom had overseen the building of the Old Croton Aqueduct from his office overlooking the pit. Where had that office been? No telling, now. Maybe Brom had fumbled a key one night, lost it, and now it lay waiting beneath the strata of leaves and dirt. Even if someone found it, they wouldn’t have a clue to what the key once opened. The door itself had rotted away long ago.

  Could you recover the pit? Get the quarry going again? What would be the point? No one mined stone within city limits now. Noise pollution ordinances, environmental protection agencies, these had driven productive mining operations out of town, out of state, to places like Nevada or Utah, just as the Albany politicians had driven the General Motors plant to China, had uprooted his whole life… and had torn apart his family. The Van Brunt Quarry had been the heart of Tarrytown once, as Philipsburg Manor had been its stomach. As the General Motors factory had been its backbone. Men had hung from shelves of stone below and had drilled and chiseled and dynamited. The quarry had given them jobs, full bellies, roofs over their heads. Irish lads and Scots, freshly arrived from New York City, still wearing their tartans and smelling of the coffin ships.

  Hadewych thought of Katrina, of her sad fate. That had occurred here, as well.

  He shook the thought away. He raised his right hand and pressed his palm to the stone. He closed his eyes as if to bless the rock, as if to baptize it in the waters of Fremont Pond and rededicate it to the service of the Van Brunts.

  I’ll have it.

  The frigid stone burned his hand.

  I will have it back.

  All of it, everything the Van Brunts lost. I swear it. I swear it, Dylan. I swear it, Mama. I swear it… Agathe.

  I have magic. And I will make it eighteen-fifty for us, son.

  A horn blew. He whirled. A fat prick in an SUV beckoned to him. The parked Mercedes was blocking the man’s precious driveway. Hadewych kissed his fingertips and pressed them to the stone. He took his time returning to the car.

  Affluent jackass. I don’t jump when you call.

  He cl
imbed the rail fence, noticing with satisfaction that the retaining wall around the man’s yard was Van Brunt stone.

  This is my land, not yours. How dare you build here? How much did Agathe sacrifice for this land? How many lives? Not just her own, and her son’s, and grandson’s—how many slaves and shopkeeps and farmers did she murder to take and hold this land? Have you bled for it, you jerk? Have you? Or did you get everything handed to you? You with your rec room and wet bar and wine cellar, you with your pretty wife and son and New Year’s plans. I have New Year’s plans of my own, asshole. If you only knew.

  The fat prick rolled down his window to give a friendly nod. Hadewych felt a desperate urge to make the man bow, grovel, lick his boots, to hear him say “Yes sir, forgive me Mister Van Brunt, sir,” but he broke into his best false smile and waved in return.

  Maybe you’ll get a visit from the Horseman tonight. Let’s see you smile then, Tubby. Let’s see you smile when your head’s rolling in the snow. Would you like that? Huh? Would you?

  The name on the mailbox read Rittermeyer. Hadewych made a mental note of it. He slid behind the wheel and backed the Mercedes away. He had no time to waste on suburban simpletons. Today was his day. He still had a thousand errands to run before tonight’s event. He had to drop off the penultimate check, go over the seating arrangements, meet with Usher’s security men and, first and most importantly, fetch the Horseman’s Treasure.

  The SUV slipped past and the man and woman and boy inside—the family inside—rolled down their windows and waved.

  “Happy New Year!” sang the Rittermeyers, smiling.

  “Screw you,” Hadewych muttered, and drove away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “The Car Thief”

  Here’s another great idea, thought Jason as he turned Zef’s cruiser onto Broadway, the back tires fishtailing and clipping the curb. He was out of practice driving and had never driven on ice before, except for a few times in Maine, backing down the driveway with Eliza watching.