Page 105 of Hollow

“I didn’t want to do it,” Crane says to him. “But you left me no choice. I wasn’t about to let you hurt her again.”

At that, Brom’s eyes go to mine, and I see that it’s him, no trace of the horseman at the moment. He holds my gaze, bewildered and scared. Then another wave of pain rocks through him, and he grunts, his teeth gnashing together.

“Is he going to die?” I ask, pressing the hem of my nightgown on his wound, trying to keep pressure on it.

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Crane says. His gaze flicks up to mine. “Switch positions with me.”

I do as he asks, holding Brom’s head in my hands while Crane rips open his shirt, revealing the round ball of the bullet lodged in his shoulder, blood flowing out of it. Crane then reaches into his inner coat pocket and pulls out a ruler. “Put this in his mouth. Get him to bite down.”

He places the ruler in my hand, and I can’t help but give him an odd look. I’ve felt that same ruler striking my backside. I suppose he carries it with him at all times.

“What?” Crane asks, noticing my look.

I just shake my head and look down at Brom in my hands. “Open, please,” I tell him, my voice trembling. Brom obeys, and I slip the ruler between his teeth.

“That’s a good boy,” Crane praises him, reaching into the wound with his finger. “I’m sorry. This is going to hurt like hell.”

I look away from the gruesome sight, and Brom yelps, grunting and moaning, biting so hard on the ruler I hear it crack.

“You’re doing so well,” Crane croons to him. “You’re taking it so well. Just a little more. I’m almost done.”

I give Crane another look, but his focus is entirely on Brom. I suck in my breath, watching the devotion on Crane’s face, the way he’s gazing at Brom with such regard. There’s tenderness in his words, the way he’s handling Brom. It unwinds something inside my chest.

Finally, Crane pops the round bullet out with his finger, and it rolls to the ground. Brom cracks the ruler in half, the edges falling away from his mouth as he screams.

“Stay with me, sweet boy,” Crane says, reaching into his other pocket and pulling out a small vial of liquid and crushed leaves. He pours out the contents onto his fingers. “Stay with me. Almost done. You’re doing so good, Brom Bones.”

Then he presses the poultice into the wound, and Brom screams again, gasping in agony, his body jerking against the ground in violent spasms.

Crane keeps his fingers there, closing his eyes, and starts reciting something that sounds like Latin but isn’t. The words seem to float in the air around us, and Brom’s eyes roll back in his head.

Crane is healing him.

I watch in awe as a warm glow appears on Crane’s fingers and flows down to the wound like honey. Brom is still groaning, but his body has stopped writhing.

What a magnificent witch this man is. He may be my teacher, but I’m practically beaming with pride.

Finally, Crane pulls his hands away and sits back on his knees. He’s breathing hard and looks drained, all the color gone from his already pale face, but there’s a satisfied glint in his eyes, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

“You didn’t have to shoot me,” Brom manages to say through a cough, and I nearly cry in relief at the sound of his voice.

Crane laughs softly. “I’m afraid I did,” he says. “But I knew what to do to fix you.”

I shift to the side so that I’m sitting on the road and Brom’s head is in my lap. He glances up at me, his eyes exhausted and bloodshot, and even though the feeling of the monster he becomes is fresh in my mind, I can’t help but want to keep him close, especially when he’s wounded. I run my fingers through his hair.

He frowns and lifts his head, twisting it around, wincing in pain as he does so, trying to get a better look at me. “Who did that to you?” he asks, his voice hoarse as he looks from the marks on my throat to whatever damage he did to my head. Unlike the rage that came from Crane, Brom’s expression crumbles in sorrow and shame.

“Did I do that to you?” he whispers.

I look up to meet Crane’s eyes, wondering what to say.

Crane clears his throat. “Brom, I don’t think I need to tell you this, nor do I think there’s an easy way to tell you this, but you’re possessed by a Hessian soldier.”

Brom puts his head back down in my lap and closes his eyes, a tear escaping. “How could I do that to you?” he ekes out, the pain in his words breaking me.

“You weren’t yourself,” I try to soothe him.

“The soldier is a retrieval ghost,” Crane goes on, getting to his feet. He wipes the dust off his trousers and starts to pace back and forth on the road. “Someone conjured him to bring you back, Brom. They used the spirit of the Hessian soldier, the headless horseman, to find you and possess you and physically bring you from wherever you were to Sleepy Hollow.” He pauses, his hands behind his back as he glances at us. “We don’t know who it was. Either your parents, perhaps Kat’s mother, or the coven. But I’m starting to doubt the reasoning was pure.”

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