Page 31 of Beneath Hoof and Hollow
Before I can rethink it, I rush to the window, throwing it wide. “Fierdon!” I yell, my voice cracking and shrill.
Itrimort cackles. “Your loyalties are misplaced. The Horseman cares not for others. Demons only?—”
The front door blows off its hinges as Fierdon stomps in. He’s even bloodier than before; his fire blazes wildly out of each carved space in his face.
Itrimortglances between us and tsks. “Controlled by a fragile woman. How pitiful. I remember when you were summoned by kings to lay waste to armies and seize continents.”
Fierdon moves in front of me. I clutch at his arm, ignoring the wet red that covers my hand. Itrimort clocks the touch, his demonic gaze moving from my hand to my face and back to Fierdon.
“She’s ruined this town for me. So many followers, dead. I’ll have to start all over again. Beginning anew requires such power. Give her to me, Horseman.”
“You have chosen poorly, Itrimort. This town is not fit to host a demon of your foul nature, and this woman will not be going anywhere with you. She bears my mark. She is mine.”
I squeeze his hand tighter. He gives me a quick squeeze back. Reassurance pushes past the fog of dread sucking the rationale from my thoughts.
Itrimort’s reptilian eyes narrow. “She will suffer by one fate or the next. I am master of the suffering fates and I cannot excuse her actions. Revenge is necessary. Of course, you know all about suffering, Horseman. How dark was it in your solitude? How endlessly lonely. I know firsthand the torment of being locked away below.”
“Your breath is wasted on me, Itrimort.” Fierdon remains calm. Meanwhile, my lungs are practically frozen. I might die of air loss, if not fright, if I don’t breathe soon.
Itrimort is undeterred. “I’ll make you a bargain. Leave Sleepy Hollow, travel, roam, collect heads from here to the ends of the Earth. Do whatever you please. Never look for me and never look back. In return, I shall send this mortal to the demon realm in your place.”
Icy fear spiders through my veins.
“What makes you think the demon realm would accept another in my place?”
I blink at Fier. Is he really considering this?
“She already bears your mark. It is within my power to send her to your prison, to fool the world beneath. You’ll never again be summoned or controlled by another.”
A grim quiet falls over the space. The longer Fierdon seems to think it over, the wider Itrimort’s smile grows.
My panic has reached monumental heights by the time Fierdon turns to me. “Fier?” I want to say more, but I’m terrified. If I were him, Isure as hell wouldn’twant to go back to an eternal prison of darkness. Iwouldn’twant to be trapped below, waiting for someone to summon me and use me before tossing me into the darkness once more. What if he agrees? “Fier. Please…”
“No.” The word is as sweetly sung as one of my own songs.
“No?” Itrimort sneers. “Then I suppose I’ll have to send you back myself.”
“None but my summoner can?—”
“Don’t be a fool,” Itrimort spits. “My vessel studied that book for months. I can still see the words of your spell in his mind. He may not have chosen you but he stared at your page enough times to condemn you. That spell has barely been alteredsince you were first cursed. What makes you think I don’t know it by heart?”
The book. Is there anything in the tattered pages of that dark presence that can help me protect Fier?
“Emeline.” Fierdon’s voice is quiet. “The book.”
“I’m on it,” I whisper to him.
Itrimort’s laugh rattles the room. “It’s far too late for that.From deep beneath lie worms and dirt. Call home your faithful?—”
Fierdon slams into him, tackling Itrimort to the ground.
I break away, sprinting out the door and straight for Alesia’s. There are bodies all around me. I try to ignore them.
Minx hisses as I rush to the cupboard where I’ve stashed the book. I slam it open, flipping until I find The Horseman’s drawing. The words on the backside of his summoning page are glowing, one by one.Itrimort is enacting the spell to banish Fierdon to the demon realm.
My gaze jumps from the different handwritings and to the old blood stamped next to their additions.
“I can fix this. I can fix this.” Gripping a quill and ink from the small writing desk, I quickly scribble new words.
