Page 30 of Beneath Hoof and Hollow
A woman stares up at him from her back, barefoot and naked like the other. This one has a lengthy gash along one thigh. The man barely has time to register my presence before I’ve removed his head from his shoulders.
The woman shrieks, cowering. Her gaze flicks between me and the head that’sjust landed near her feet. “Hide past the pumpkin patch or suffer the same fate.”
Fear and a hell of a survival instinct have her racing, leg wound and all, toward the pumpkin patch. The next male scream has us cutting right and riding up on a truly sweet sight. Leed hangs, upside down and fuming.
“Cut me down! Someone! I’m the Chosen Shepherd!” Emeline’s ex-fiancé falls silent when his slowly spinning vine turns my direction.
How easy it would be to snip his head from his meaty neck. I’ve just sent Emeline away. If I kill him now, all my fantasies of using him for personal revenge will be lost. Making a quick and notably foolish decision, I send more vines at him. They turn him upright, tying him to one of the tree’s larger branches.
“Stay put.”
“Devil! Dark thing! Itrim?—”
I send a vine winding around his mouth, silencing him. One thick piece of greenery slaps him on its final pass.Oops.
More shouts ring through the night air as my vines ensnare their victims. Cracking my neck, I inhale deeply.It’s time to do a little hunting of my own.
Emeline
There are no lone men in the town itself. By now, all those protesting the treatment of the so-called witches, and any opposing Itrimort’s commands, must have been locked away. Those still roaming free are a part of the Lamb’s Golden Light. I spy a large group congregated in the church. The rest must all be tracking down more falsely accused women in the woods.
My fist aches as I pound on door after door, instructing every woman left behind to make for the far side of the pumpkin patch.I’m forced to threaten death to get some of the more fearful women moving. It’s not too far from the truth. If Itrimort has his way, I bet he’ll have every woman in town swinging from the hanging tree by week’s end.
“Stay close together, and no torches!”
Male screams lend urgency to my words. The forest is alive with the sounds of vengeance. But I’m not the only one who notices the music of death breaching the quiet of the night.
I’vejust circled back, seeking any final stragglers, when the church doors slam outward. I’m spotted nearly instantly. Do I make for the woods or hide here in town? I can’t run fast enough to keep ahead for long. Women here have never been taught to run or fight. Which means the men of Sleepy Hollow have always been at an advantage physically.
Meeting up with Fierdon is my best bet for safety. I’ve nearly made it to the tree line when a trio of men burst into the clearing and march straight toward me. Whipping my head side to side, I search for the best path out of their line of sight. Ducking between two buildings, I sprint deeper into town.
“Got you!” A hand seizes my upper arm, hauling me off my feet. I cry out, kicking and screaming.
The sound of rushing air sweeps above my head. Something wet hits my cheek. The hand holding my arm goes slack.
Fierdon looms over me, looking devilish astride his skeletal steed. So much blood covers his face that the orange of his skin has turned red. Relief and terror overtake me in a mixture that has my legs going boneless as I sag to the ground.
“Up, nightingale.” Fierdon offers me a gloved hand. “This night is still young. Hide yourself. I will come for you.”
Drawing strength from a place that didn’t exist before I summoned Fierdon, I grip his blood-slicked fingers and haul myself up. Horace turns, galloping back toward the center of town.I have tofind someplace to hide.
Muscle memory guides my legs and I find myself ducking beneath the doorway into my old home. I've barely been back here since I hit Leed in the forest. My stomach churns at the thought of him. Was he in the woods hunting? Or one of the men in church? Has Fierdon already killed him?
“You’ve been busy, Emeline.”
I spin around. A man has manifested in my living room.
“And in his name it was declared that sheep gone too far astray must be cast out into the wilderness. Fodder for wolves and devils alike.”
Reverend Statton’s eyes glow yellow as he steps from the darkness. His skin is a sickly grey. Patches of scales cover his cheeks and neck. A forked tongue flicks out, tasting the air. I stumble back in revulsion.
“I know it is you who summoned The Horseman. I can taste him on the air around you.” He takes a step toward me. Slimy green footprints track his path across the living room. “If I had known how badly you wanted to sully yourself with a demon, I would have been all too eager to chain you up and make you scream for me?—”
“Stop.” My tone is firm but beneath the bravado I am fucking terrified. “Don’t come any closer.”
“What will you do to stop me? Your horseman is too busy to hear your cries.” He grins, bearing sharp teeth.
The mournful death wails of the men caught up in Fier’s massacre fill the night outside. Will he hear me if I scream? Reverend Statton, no, Itrimort, stands between me and the front door.
