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I nod as I mount Gunpowder, noticing how Brom is standing still and staring at the constable through the front window of the police station.
“Brom?” I ask as Crane gets on the horse behind me.
Brom keeps staring straight ahead until he finally looks up at me. His eyes are dark and shadowed, but there’s a chilling twist to his lips as he meets my gaze.
“Brom?” I say again, feeling uneasy this time.
He just nods at me and unties Daredevil, swinging up on the stallion’s back. “Let’s go.”
We trot down Main Street with Brom in the lead until the road curves and leaves the town behind. By the old manor house it splits, with one road leading south to Tarrytown and the other going north to Pleasantville.
We’re cantering on the road north, going past carriages and other riders, until the road enters a forest of orange and yellow maples, and there’s a large coach up ahead turning around, the horses pulling it looking agitated as they try to navigate the narrow road.
“What seems to be the problem?” Brom yells up ahead at the coach.
The driver in a top hat shakes his head. “Road is blocked. Can’t get past.”
He maneuvers the coach around and towards us by going into a ditch briefly, and then we see the problem. A massive sycamore tree has fallen across the road, blocking it completely.
“When did this happen?” Crane asks.
The driver shrugs. “Must have just. I had taken folks to Pleasantville earlier in the day and it was fine. I better go tell the constable.”
He cracks his whip at his team of horses and the coach takes off, leaving us in the dust, the passengers staring at us out the windows as they go.
“Curious,” Crane muses as his gaze goes over the tree. “How does a tree that large just fall out of the blue with no wind?”
“Too much rain in the roots?” Brom suggests as Daredevil throws up his head, snorting wildly. “Whoa there, what’s gotten into you?” he chides his horse as it dances around, the whites of his eyes showing.
“I should investigate,” Crane says, clucking for Gunpowder to go closer to the fallen tree, but Gunpowder’s ears flatten back and he starts swishing his tail vigorously, moving forward a few feet and then reversing.
Gunpowder, I tell him, trying to communicate. It’s alright. We just want a closer look at the tree.
But Gunpowder won’t go, and when Crane kicks his side, the old horse suddenly rears, almost throwing the both of us off. We both manage to hold on.
“Jesus,” Crane swears. “What’s wrong with them?”
“It doesn’t matter,” says Brom, bringing Daredevil over to us. “The tree is down; we can’t get through to town.”
“There are other ways to Pleasantville,” I tell them as Gunpowder spins around and starts heading back to Sleepy Hollow. “There’s another road further east, some trails…”
“Those take longer,” Brom says. “Didn’t you want me back in chains before nightfall?” he asks Crane, a razor edge to his voice.
“You like the chains, don’t kid yourself,” Crane says under his breath. He clears his throat. “Alright, we’ll head back to Kat’s, get her horse and hopefully not have to deal with her mother, and then back to the school. Save Pleasantville for another day.”
We start riding back the way we came, and Crane says into my ear. “I guess it’s true what they say.”
“What?” I say back, looking over my shoulder at him to meet his sharp gaze.
“Welcome to Sleepy Hollow,” he says gravely. “May you never leave.”
Chapter 17
Crane
I’m not a huge believer in coincidences. Life isn’t as random as people make it out to be, I suppose that’s why I do tarot and have a gift for divinity. Things happen because they are supposed to, because it is ordained, because there is order to life. We are all flies in a web? Perhaps. But we are all cogs in a wheel? Most definitely.
The fact that our way out of Sleepy Hollow was blocked by a giant, healthy-looking tree wasn’t a coincidence to me. It was there for a reason. To prevent us from leaving. And if we had more time, perhaps to venture on another route to Pleasantville, or the road to Tarrytown, or on a riverboat down the Hudson, each of those attempts would have been thwarted in some way. The prickling feeling on the back of my neck, that kick in the gut that I’ve come to trust as instinct, all of those things are telling me that there is no escape now, at least not for today.
I don’t voice this to Kat or Brom, of course. They don’t need to hear my wild theories, especially ones so demoralizing and based on nothing but a gut feeling. But I know it. Witchcraft and magic go beyond what you can see, and often beyond what you understand. The Sisters have been at this game for a very, very long time. They are in charge of the chess board, seeing the moves ahead of time. The wards protect the school, does something similar protect Sleepy Hollow when they want it to?
