Page 33 of Beneath Hoof and Hollow
Before I cancomprehendwhat’shappening, a vine snaps outward, wrapping around my waist and jerking me towardFierdon. He spins me, clutching my back to his chest. Itrimort is stumbling around. His mutilated hands clutch his face as a pumpkin grows out through his eye socket. Another gourd grows from his groin, it’s the largest so far. Itrimort’s shrieks turn to pitchy squeals of horror and pain. That pumpkin seemed personal.
They grow and grow, with some reaching the size of a wagon wheel. His scales vanish beneath the lumpy collection of various-shaped green gourds.
My own scream breaks loose when the first one smashes wide. Black pumpkin guts spray across the room. Fierdon turns me away, keeping me tucked into his chest. The wet squelching and sounds of raining seeds and chunks of rotted pumpkin flesh tell me that the rest of Itrimort’s gourds are rupturing in the same way as the first.
His sounds become garbled and then altogether cease.
Fierdon rises, releasing me from his hold. Everything within a twelve-foot radius of us is covered in black and green goo. Itrimortis nowhere to be seen.
Familiar hoofbeats draw my attention to the left as Horace jumps the remaining wall of rubble and lands inside what was once my living room. He trots around, finding the largest pieces of pumpkin still remaining and stomping them until there’s nothing more than a pile of pulpy mush.
“Is he gone?”
Fierdon takes my hand. “Something as old and powerful as Itrimort cannot be destroyed for good. He’s returned to the edge of the demon realm, waiting to be summoned once more.”
“But if we have the book, no one else can summon him, right?” I clutch the book to my chest.
He shakes his head, the orange glow in his skull drawing me in. “We don’t know that our spell book is the only copy with his name inside.”
My throat tightens. “Will he come back here? If he’s summoned again?”
“He may.” His hand sweeps my hair back and gently cups the back of my head. “If he does, I will be here. You are under my protection now, nightingale. As are the others in Sleepy Hollow.”
The others. I swing my attention outside our crumbled walls. Even after hearing the screams of the men, their brutal endings still shock me. The town is covered in a web of vines that runs atop every roof and between each building. Strung up in thosevines are the bodies of every member of the Lamb’s Golden Light. There are so many, all wearing the golden pin of Itrimort. Young, old, familiar and unfamiliar alike.
My heart picks up, beating hard and fast as I search for one man in particular. “Is Leed…”
“Don’t look for him.” Fierdon steps before me. I don’t know how he commands the vines, but the ones I can still see vanish from above. The interconnected web of greenery disappears into the earth. All the bodies caught in the deadly vines drop, hitting the ground with wet, hardthunks.
“Go to the forest. Bring the women home.” Fierdon strokes my cheek. I’m crying. When did that start, and why?
A bony muzzle bumps my hand. Horace rubs against me, his forelegs stained in blood and smashed pumpkin. Fierdon lifts me, gently setting me on Horace’s tall back.
“I’ll get this cleaned up. Go. Bring them home.”
Chapter Twelve
Emeline
I return, riding Horace at a slow pace as the remaining women of the town follow behind on foot. It took me a while to find them all and explain. The looks they gave me when I told them about the heroic jack-o’-lantern demon who saved the town made me feel like a complete crazy person. The skeletal horse I was riding did help to sell the story.
They’ll just have to meet him and see for themselves.
Fierdon strides toward me. A small crowd of brutalized men follows close behind. He’s freed all those who were imprisoned. All the men who stood up for the falsely accused girls. Every man who refused to fall under the influence of Itrimort. So few are left.
There are many startled and frightened stares as both the men and women take in Fierdon. He is quite a terrifying sight. Massive, dangerous, with glowing eyes and a sinister smile. What must they be thinking?
“He will not harm you,” I announce, keeping my voice gentle and confident. “He saved us all.”
Some of the fear and tension has dissipated by the time we reach Fierdon and the imprisoned men. Their focus shifts to reunions as the women come within arm’s reach.
Cries of joy and sorrow erupt as lovers and families are reunited. Cheers of joy for those who made it out alive. Quiet sobs for those now realizing their husbands, friends, fathers, and brothers are not coming home. So many gone in so few days.
“Where are the dead?” I whisper to Fierdon.
“I dumped them in a pile near the cemetery. Didn’t want the women to have to suffer any more than they already have.”
I run one hand up the front of his chest and let the other slide across his waist. His menacing carved face turns soft and shocked when I grip the top of his cloak and pull him down for a kiss that would have me blushing if I were an outsider looking in. “You’re a good man.”
