Page 56 of Hollow

I laugh, joy flowing through me like a river. None of this seems real.

“Is this a dream?” I ask.

He pulls back and grabs me by the shoulders, those black eyes skirting over my entire body, looking impressed, an impish smile on his face. “You look like a dream,” he says. “So maybe it is.”

I feel my cheeks go pink. “Brom, I have so many questions.”

“Ahem,” Crane says, clearing his throat loudly.

We both turn to face him and realize we’re not only holding up the whole class but that Sister Margaret is standing in the doorway, grinning at us. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her genuinely smile before, and the effect is disconcerting, like watching a cat try out a human expression for a change.

“May I?” Sister Margaret says to Crane, extending a hand into the classroom.

“Please,” Crane says imploringly, obviously wanting an explanation for all of this. Crane may not know that Brom has been missing, but he’s at least wondering how he came to be in his classroom all of a sudden.

Sister Margaret walks into the classroom and steps up on the platform in front of Crane’s desk. Her hood is down today, but she’s in the same long black cloak as the Sisters always are.

“Students,” she says, her voice bright and carrying across the room. “We have a new student joining you today. He’s born and raised in Sleepy Hollow and just came back after a four-year absence. Everyone say hello to Abraham Van Brunt.”

She gestures to him with an even wider grin. I had no idea that Sister Margaret knew anything about Brom, but she’s treating him like he’s a star pupil. In fact, Brom never showed an inkling of witchcraft while I knew him, but perhaps that’s changed. I mean, it has to be—why else would he be attending the institute?

The class gives a lukewarm welcome with a few hellos. Brom may not be a Van Tassel, but the fact that he’s from Sleepy Hollow and the fact that Sister Margaret is positively glowing over him means that they’re also placing him in the same category as they put me. Not the same. An “other.”

Brom gives an awkward half bow, his eyes darting over the room briefly before finding mine again as Sister Margaret turns her attention over to Crane.

“You should have a little chat with Brom after class to try and get him caught up with what he’s missed. Perhaps a few private tutoring classes should do it.”

Crane’s brows go up briefly, but his face quickly goes neutral. “Very well.”

But Brom is still staring at me as if he can’t believe I’m really here. That makes two of us.

“Brom,” Sister Margaret says. “Can I speak with you out in the hall? Katrina, your presence is requested too.”

Brom and I exchange a bewildered look but follow her flapping cloaks out into the hallway. I meet Crane’s eyes as we go, but they’re still unreadable. I can only imagine what he’s thinking right now. Is this really the Abe that he had been talking about? Is it possible he met Brom while in New York or San Francisco and he changed his name slightly? But if it is Brom, then why is Brom acting like he’s never seen Crane before? It’s like Crane barely exists to him.

Of course, it might all be an act. It’s not as if their affair would be allowed publicly anyway, so he could just be pretending he doesn’t recognize Crane. And didn’t Crane say that Brom nearly broke his heart? Perhaps it ended badly enough that Brom feels guilty. I have no idea, but every second that passes, I’m getting more and more curious and more and more confused.

We step out into the hall with Sister Margaret, and she closes the door to the classroom. She looks at him, then at me, her smile coy, her eyes dancing. “How wonderful to see you again, Brom.”

Brom gives her a faint smile, the confusion clear on his face. “Have we met before?”

“You wouldn’t remember,” she says.

“No,” he says, his smile faltering. “I don’t remember anything.”

“Be that as it may,” she says, clapping her hands together, “it’s so nice to finally welcome you to the school. Did you ever imagine you would be here alongside your sweetheart?” She looks to me now as if suddenly she’s glad I’m here too.

“Brom!” my mother’s voice rings out through the hall, and for a moment, I’m gobsmacked at hearing it until I remember that she rode with Crane and me to the school this morning. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Mrs. Van Tassel,” he says to her with a polite nod as she comes running down the hall toward him with her arms open.

“Please, it’s Sarah,” she says against him. While she embraces Brom like it’s her long-lost son, my focus is beyond her.

At the three witches coming down the hall in her wake.

Sister Sophie.

Aunt Ana.

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