Page 77 of Hollow

My heart feels like it’s dropped out of my chest and onto a bloody mess on the floor.

“Marry him? Did he ask you?”

“No. He hasn’t.” I sigh with relief. “But it was always that way. Ever since I was born, I’ve been betrothed to him. We grew up knowing we’d be married to each other one day. And he was my best friend, and I…I didn’t mind the idea. I don’t think he did either. But when he went missing…that was all forgotten. Until now. Now, they’re talking about us getting married like he never left at all. They all act like the last four years never happened.”

I mull that over for a moment, but all I really care about is how she feels.

“Do you love him?” I ask point-blank.

She swallows hard, the sound audible. “I did. When I was younger, I did. I was in love with him, even though I was a silly teenager who didn’t know the meaning of the word.”

“And now?” I say stiffly, afraid of the answer.

“I don’t know,” she says, and the air hitches in my lungs. “I can’t tell…because it’s not Brom. It’s not him.”

“What do you mean?” I think of the locked door inside his mind, that other voice, the war that belonged to someone else.

She takes in a deep breath. “I left supper early. My parents and his parents were pushing for the marriage as they always have and—”

“Do you know why?” I interrupt. “Do they ever tell you why they want you to be married?”

“No,” she says emphatically, her eyes flashing. “And that’s the thing. I can’t get any answers. My mother says it was something my father wanted, but Famke told me secretly that all my father ever wanted for me was to leave Sleepy Hollow and that he didn’t want me to marry Brom at all. It’s just that my mother overpowered him on everything.”

“Kat,” I say gently, taking her hand in mine again. “Tell me…how did your father die?’

She frowns at me. “Why?” Then her mouth forms an O in shock. “You don’t think my mother had anything to do with his death, do you?”

“I’m thinking a lot of things,” I admit. “It’s part of my job to examine all the angles. Is it possible that—”

“No,” she says sharply. “No, that can’t… I won’t entertain that notion.”

Then, a look dawns on her face.

“Think about it, Kat,” I say softly. “Tell me how he died.”

“Heart attack,” she says, her eyes going glassy as she looks away from my gaze. I give her hands a squeeze. “I was there. I saw him die. He was in bed. It was the morning, early. My mother had run out into the hall and yelled for me. Said there was something wrong with him. I ran into the bedroom, and he was gripping his heart, gasping for breath. I ran to his side while my mother went to call for help.”

She closes her eyes, and a single tear runs down her cheek. I feel another thread inside me unravel while my sense of protection over her tightens, becoming something raw and fierce.

“He stared up at me, and in his eyes, I saw so much sorrow,” she goes on quietly, her voice breaking. “He was so sad that he was dying, and I…I knew from that moment on I’d never have something good in my life. I was losing the one person who loved me. But even in his last moments, his words were for my mother, not for me.”

I frown. That doesn’t seem like the man she’d been describing, the one who would do anything for his daughter, the one who created all the love I felt when I was inside her memories. “What did he say?”

“He said for me to watch over my mother,” she says. Then she stops herself, her brows knitting together as she meets my gaze. “No. No, it wasn’t that. It was ‘watch for your mother.’”

“As in watch out for her?” I venture.

She swallows. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “I always took it to mean that I would have to watch over her. She became so weak after he died it’s like he knew that she would wither without him.”

Something about that turn of phrase tickles something at the back of my brain, but I don’t know what it is. “Like he was keeping her alive,” I muse quietly.

“Yes,” she says, a sharpness coming over her expression. “It was like he was keeping her alive. After he died, she was never the same. She still isn’t. It’s like her life force is…gone. No one can figure out what’s wrong with her.”

I cock my head. “Well, what do you make of that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe their magic was fused together. Connected. Like the mushrooms you spoke about. Maybe there was something in him that kept her alive.”

“Hmmm.” There’s something more to it than that, but we’re on the right track. Least I think we are. Frustration coils inside me yet again. “Damn it, I was hoping I could solve one mystery before moving on to another.”

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