Page 8 of Hollowed

Nothingwas behind me except the empty town square and the soft noises of the town beginning to wake.Myheart raced asIturned back to look at the crow, but it was gone, only a slightly wobbling branch a sign of its presence.

Pressingmy hand to my chest to still the rapid thumping, my eyes scanned the entire square asIpassed through, speeding up to get to the safety of my workplace.

Finallyreaching the pottery shop,Iopened the door and went inside.Thefamiliar smell of wet clay and hot air filled my nose, andItook a deep breath, leaning against the door.Whateveromen had come with the lone crow, it could not harm me here.Orat least, that’s whatIwould tell myself.

“Katrina, you are late!”Henrycalled from the back room.Hisvoice was loud enough for me to easily hear it, an accommodation he had made when he hired me and had discovered my hearing was not quite what was to be expected.Before, he’d seldom raised his voice past a whisper.Hepopped out from the door frame to his office space, raising an eyebrow. “Wherehave you been?”

“Ihad breakfast with my parents,”Isaid.Witheach step further into the shop, my heart lightened.Theburden of this morning and my impending death slipped further away.Asmuch asIwanted to fight, and rage, and march to theCiallmhar, demanding they change their mind… it would do no good.Infact, the only thingI’dlikely accomplish is gettingHenrykilled beside me as a punishment for my rebellion.

Iwould not risk his life.Oneof us was enough.

“Ahh,” he hummed, coming out of the room and walking over to stand in front of me.Despitehis old age, he moved spryly.Hegrabbed my chin and turned my head to one side and then the other, inspecting me with a grim expression.Lettinggo, his gnarled hand patted my cheek. “Youhave been crying, girl.Yourface is swollen.Andyou are wet.Isit raining?Didyou talk toCiarayesterday?”

“Iam theRoghnaithethis year,”Ibreathed, ignoring his other questions and comments.Hewas simply trying to comfort me the only way he knew how—optimistic irreverence.Therewas no use in delaying the news.Itwould be announced to the town soon enough.Mymother said theCiallmharhad chosen me, so word would spread quickly.

“Oh, darling girl,” he whispered, reaching down to take my hands in his wrinkled ones.Hisface fell, and he sighed heavily, patting my hands as silver lined his eyes. “Iam so sorry.”

“Theydid not even care,Henry,”Isaid, the tears burning in the back of my throat.EvenIcould hear how pitifulIsounded.

Icleared my throat, pushing the tears back as my right ear popped at the pressure.Idid not wantHenry’spity, or anyone’s, for that matter.Andshowing my pain would not change their minds.Nothingwould.Ihad learned that much in my nearly twenty years of life.

Buryingmy emotions with a practiced ease,Isniffed my tears back and my throat again. “Inany case, there’s work to be done.”

Helooked at me, his old, clouded eyes full of sorrow.Staringfor a moment, it was clear he wanted to argue with me; to protest that it was fine thatIbroke down sobbing in his arms over the thought of dying.Butthankfully, he nodded, reaching up and patting my cheek once more. “Verywell.Getto it.Ishall be in the back.”

Sighingheavily,Iwent to the counter and began going through the orders, working out what needed to be started today and what needed to be finished.Ihad broken down inHenry’sarms many times before, but this… there was nothing crying would do to fix it.Sobbingwould not change my fate and would only makeHenrysad.AndIdid not want that.

No, the more aloofIcould appear to others, the less impact this would have on them.Henrywas special to me, the fatherInever had, andIwould do whatever it took to make this easier on him.Hewould be the one that had to live with my death, not me.Iwould do nothing to jeopardize his life after my mother took mine.

Five

Themorning sun had fully risen, though the thick gray clouds hiding it from view made it hard to tell.Acold blanket of dreariness smothered the town.

Thelantern beside the door moved up and down, my cue that someone had entered the shop.BeforeIhad joinedHenry’semploy, it had been a small tinkling bell, but we quickly realizedIcould not reliably hear it every time.Onetoo many broken dishes afterIwas startled by a customer had quickly deigned the need for an alternative.

Removingmy foot from the pedal of the pottery wheel, the vaseI’dbeen working on slowly spun to a stop.Twofamiliar faces entered the shop, swirls of morning mist fading around their feet.Thoughcalling them friends was certainly an overstatement,IchabodCraneandAbrahamVanBruntwere two of the only people who ever actively sought my company, whetherIwanted them to or not.

Istood, leaving the wheel to approach them from behind the counter.Myprevious encounter withIchabodstill burned in my mind, and from the frown that set across his pale face, it still burned in his, too.Abraham—Brom, as he preferred—was all smiles as he strode inside the shop.

“Katrina!”Bromgreeted, stepping around the counter and pulling me into an uncomfortably tight hug.Inever had to askBromto repeat himself, as his voice boomed, bordering on the edge of being too loud.Flinchingat his touch,Igritted my teeth to keep my body from reacting too noticeably.Idid not enjoy being touched; the contact was foreign and uncomfortable given my childhood held little affection.ButIknew resisting would only prolong the contact, soIsqueezedBrom’sarm briefly before stepping back, trying to hide my grimace.Ifhe noticed it, he would only ask questions, pushing and pushing until one of us snapped, andIwas far too tired to deal with him right now.

Thankfully, he finally stepped back around the counter, moving to inspect the shelf of drying pottery along the wall.

“Goodmorning,Katrina.Lovelymorning, isn’t it?”Ichabodgreeted.Aforced smile stretched across his face as he pulled the door shut behind them and walked up to the counter, leaning against it.

Iraised an eyebrow. “Isit truly?”

Brom, a large man in both appearance and personality, turned from where he’d been inspecting the piecesI’dmade yesterday, hands clasped behind him in a guise of dignity. “Well, it was for us, but it appears that’s not the case for you.”

Itwas not unusual for them to visit me, but the timing of their visit was something that had me watching a bit more closely than usual.Oneof them—or both—knew something.

Ichabodglared atBrombefore softening his gaze as it moved to me. “What’shappened,Katrina?”

“I’mthis year’sRoghnaithe.”Therewas no point in dancing around the subject with either of them.Thetown knew what being theRoghnaithemeant.Thepublic sacrifice was a yearly occurrence.Aspectacle.

WhileIhad never attended one out of silent protest,Iknew what happened.AftertheSamhainparty at my parents’ house, the poor, unfortunate soul was taken to the cemetery after being stripped of their magic by theCiallmharand then stripped of their belongings by my mother.Thenthey were sent into the forest on the north side of theHollow, into theHorseman’sterritory.Noone had ever returned.

Andfrom the lack of surprise onBrom’sface, he’d known my news before he ever stepped foot inside the shop.

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