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As such, when Crane told me I both couldn’t see him until tomorrow and also had to stay away from Brom, naturally it made me want to see them both. When I left the faculty dorm I was already plotting how to sneak out of my window and go visit him and Brom in the night. I want to see what Brom looks like naked and covered in chains. I am assuming he’s naked, anyway. In my mind he is.
But when night had fallen and I was in bed, wondering when I should attempt my escape, I remembered the anguish in Crane’s face. He was trying to be strong, his face a blasé mask, but I saw it slip when he held my face in his hands and told me that everything he was doing, he was doing for me.
And I trust Crane, deeply. I know I am at the forefront of his actions and desires—perhaps side by side with Brom, but still at the front. As much as I don’t like being apart from him, especially now when the world seems so precarious, I also don’t want him to lose his job either. If he does, it means he has to leave and he’ll never be allowed back in through those gates.
But then of course, I would leave too. The more that happens the more I think there’s no point in staying at the school as it is. I’m an adult, I can make my own decisions. If it comes to it, I can leave this school, leave Sleepy Hollow, and never look back, as long as I have Crane and Brom at my side.
I’m not leaving either one behind.
So instead of sneaking out my window and paying my men a visit, I fall asleep instead.
A deep, dark sleep.
So deep that the next morning I wake up not knowing where I am for a moment. I sit up in bed, my heart beating rapidly, until I look around the room, barely lit by the grey morning light, and realize I’m someplace entirely new.
I exhale loudly, feeling utmost relief. My mother isn’t in the same house as me anymore. There’s a gate and magic wards and a long trail through a dark woods between us now. I finally have broken free from her in the way I always yearned to.
Granted, her influence is everywhere since I’m now stuck with her sisters, but even though I fear my aunts (and Sister Margaret and Sophie, to a degree), I still feel like I’m one step closer to truly spreading my wings. I close my eyes and I think of blue butterflies taking flight into the sky, my fingertips tingling.
But instead of taking flight, I get up and get ready for the day. I’m up early enough on this Sunday that the bathroom and toilets are available, so I do my business and take a quick bath before the rest of the girls in this dorm get up. Then I take my time getting dressed, taking extra care to make sure my clothes are particularly flattering and that my hair looks nice—all for Crane, including not wearing any drawers—and forgo breakfast in the dining hall so that I can get to the library by nine.
The library is a short walk away and while the morning mist is damp on my face, the rain holds off. The librarian, Ms. Albarez, gives me a courteous yet distant nod as I enter and I’m relieved to find it completely empty except for one very tall, dark-haired gentleman at the very back of the hall, silhouetted by the morning light at the windows, his back to me.
My stomach does a little flip as I walk toward him and he raises his head, sensing my presence.
I’m about to throw my arms around him, kiss him on the cheek, but I remember where we are and the roles we have to play. He is the teacher, I am the student. Nothing more.
I walk around the desk and stand primly on the other side, my back to the large gothic windows that look out onto the woods.
“Good morning, Professor Crane,” I say to him.
He stares up at me with a feverish glint in his eyes, his full mouth curved, taking me in like I’m some sort of tonic he’s been deprived of for weeks on end. If I could bottle this look and carry it around with me, I would. I want him to gaze at me like this forever.
“Good morning, Kat,” he purrs and then gestures with a quick tap of his elegant fingers. “Have a seat.”
I dutifully sit down across from him, glancing at all the books he has strewn across the table in haphazard piles. “What are these?” I ask.
“Many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,” he says, to which I frown. “You haven’t read any Poe?” he asks.
