Page 32 of Horsemen and Hot Chocolate

Katrina nodded. “Yes.”

After a spell of silence, Hildegard sighed in resignation. “Fine. It’s been long enough, I suppose. Let’s speak inside, though, because my bones are turning to ice.”

Relief soared up Katrina’s throat as she followed the woman into her cottage. The dry leaves crunched under their steps, and the wooden chimes jangled a discordant song when they passed.

Inside, a small table with two rickety chairs sat on a green woven rug. Pots of herbs and various flora hung from the room’s corners, and a small brick fireplace roared near the table. The space was warm and bright, with rosemary and thyme lingering in the air.

Hildegard placed her cane against the wall and sat at the table. “Ask me your questions, but do not expect simple answers. There is a darkness in the secrets you wish to unearth.”

Katrina gingerly sat across from her. “I am here for only the truth, whether it be simple or not. My first question is this: Did you curse Willem Van den Broek?”

Hildegard pursed her lips. The flames crackled beside them, casting shadows across the witch’s face. The chair creaked as she sat back, her eyes darkening with remorse.

“Aye,” the witch said, “I cursed the lad.”

Chapter eighteen

It had been too long. The Horseman paced back and forth, carving a path in the fallen leaves as he waited. He should have convinced Katrina to stay. What if the witch harmed her? How could he live with himself if Katrina never returned?

His stomach lurched at the thought. Minutes turned into an hour, and the longer he paced, the more his thoughts raced with the worst possibilities. He attempted to follow the path to the witch’s abode, but something prevented him from crossing. Slamming his fist against it, his hand collided with an invisible barrier as solid as stone. Inferno snorted as if laughing at him when he winced and snatched his bruised fist away. He could only helplessly wait.

Soft footsteps crunched over fallen leaves. The Horseman straightened, straining to lean as far as he could against the barrier to see if it was Katrina. As soon as she emerged around the bend, the Horseman wished to race to her side, but the wall forced him to halt. When she approached, a vacant look in her eyes made him pause, and dread squeezed his gut like a vise clamp.

“Are you well?” he asked, his eyes darting over her face to check for injuries. “Did she hurt you?”

She shook her head. “She didn’t hurt me. I am well,” she said, but her gaze fell to the ground.

“What happened?” he asked, his heart beating with panic. Perhaps the witch had cast a spell on her, or… she could have revealed a horrible truth he didn’t know he could stomach.

Katrina looked up at him, her expression uncertain. She opened and shut her mouth a few times as though weighing her words. The longer she hesitated, the more his nerves began to crawl under his skin.

“She said that you are Willem Van den Broek,” she whispered at last.

An icy hand gripped his heart, stealing his breath. Deep down, he’d known, yet to have it confirmed by another source was a different matter. The name clung to him like a shadow, familiar but unrecognizable. After living as a headless specter for fourteen years, he grappled with the new identity, unsure if he deserved the name.

“How does she know this?” he asked.

Katrina expelled a long breath. “Because she cursed you,” she whispered.

Time stilled around him. His chest tightened as he stared at Katrina’s frown. Despite sensing this truth all along, the old sense of dread raced through his beating heart. “What have I done to deserve such punishment?”

She scoffed, and the sound made him flinch. Had the witch’s words changed Katrina’s view of him?

“She said she cursed you because she was driven by her grief—a mother’s grief,” Katrina explained.

The Horseman’s mind spun. “What does that mean?” He suddenly felt he was teetering on the precipice, anticipating the pain when he inevitably fell into the void.

Katrina fidgeted with a curl, and he placed a hand on her arm, hoping to reassure her that, no matter what, he wouldn’t be upset with her. But he could not promise he wouldn’t be upset with himself.

“Please tell me,” he said.

Katrina bit her lip, avoiding his gaze. “I’m afraid of what will happen if I tell you.”

His heart drummed louder. “What manner of thing did I do that was so terrible you’re afraid to speak of it?”

After another beat, she let out another sigh. “Hildegard said you were tromping around her property and smashed one of her pumpkins. That was when she found you, alone and scared. She saw your horse and surmised you had stolen it from someone of a higher rank in the war. She then realized you had abandoned your post. You had deserted the army, and her son had passed recently in battle. In her wrath, she cursed you so you might live as the specter you are now. But you’re not a ghost,” she said, her breath catching. Her crystal eyes peered up at him. “You’re still alive.”

Shock jolted through him, spreading dread through every crevice of his body. At first, his mind couldn’t grasp her words, seeming to shield him from the truth. Then, the memories surged into him: growing up as a sickly boy, his father’s disappointment, and his desire to prove himself once he finally gained strength at fourteen and ran off to be a soldier. A gap of darkness obscured the rest, and he could not recall the moment he deserted the battle. A part of him was relieved. He did not wish to remember how pathetic he must have been, abandoning his comrades in their fight for independence—everything he’d hoped to achieve was undone by one cowardly act.