Page 22 of Hollowed

Exploringcould wait untilIregained feeling in fingertips once more.

Settlingin deeper,Iclosed my eyes for a moment.TheDullahancould take as much time as he needed to put his horse away.Thisfire was allIneeded right now.

Eleven

Iknew little about putting a horse back into a stall, but theHorsemanwas gone for quite a while.Mydress was nearly dry, andIwas comfortably warm now.Iwanted to move from the bench and explore the house, butIdoubted theHorsemanwould appreciate my snooping.Hemay have been kind to me thus far, but his motivations were clearly beyond simply saving me from drowning in the river.Iwasn’t foolish enough to believe he would let me explore his home without supervision or consequence.

Evenso, my body ached to get up and wander, to discover what lurked in the shadowed corners of his home—to see what secrets theHorsemanmight be hiding.Hehad been far kinder thanI’dexpected, and either my entire life had been a lie—which, while entirely possible, wasn’t somethingIwanted to consider right now—or theHorsemanwas hiding something from me.Orperhaps it was both.

Rockingback and forth on the bench,Ishoved my hands under my legs.Idlehands and a damning curiosity never made for a good combination.Forcingmy eyes away from the rest of the room,Ifocused back on the fire, watching the flames dance in the fireplace, twirling, spinning, and sputtering as if they were aware they now held my attention.

Jigglingmy legs only eased my restlessness so much, and after what felt like an eternity,Igave into my impulsiveness and rose from the bench, walking over to the floor to ceiling bookshelf.Booksof history, books in languagesIdid not recognize, books on magicIhad never seen before—Iached to read them.Ilonged to learn everythingIcould about magic; everything my parents denied me as a child.Draggingmy finger along the cracked leather spines,Iperused his extensive collection.

Animage of theDullahanin all his ominous black riding gear, sitting on the bench by the fire while reading a book, popped into my mind.Ismiled at the thought as my attention swung to a book at the end of the shelf.Theshiny black leather and gold lettering on the spine caught my eye, as it seemed alive.Itwrithed in the firelight, embossing the text in flames rather than gold.Everythingelse in the room faded away asIheard the loud thumping of my heart and saw the liquid flame of the words on the book.

Iwas not in control of my body as my fingers reached out toward the book.Iwas merely a witness as my hands ghosted along the spine, not quite touching it.Blackspots danced across my vision and my breathing quickened, tight in my chest.

Katrina,the book seemed to whisper, just like the wind had.Comecloser,Katrina.Discoverour secrets.Listento our stories.

Myfingers were a mere breath away from touching the book when the door swung open, thudding softly against the wall behind it.Thenoise broke whatever tranceIwas in, and my hand dropped to my side.Isnapped back to reality as ifIhad been dropped into an icy river.

TheDullahanhad returned just asIwas snooping through his book collection.

“Haveyou found something interesting there?” he asked.Hisface was void of emotion, though his eyes remained locked on the bookI’dbeen about to pick up.

Ilooked back at it, noticing the title was now still, just simple gold lettering embossed on the spine.HadIimagined it?Iclasped my hands in front of me and ducked my head. “Iapologize.Thatwas invasive of me.”

“Becareful what you touch,Katrina,” he warned. “Someof my collection may not appreciate it.”

“Wheredid you get them all from?”Iasked, looking back over at the shelf as he stopped in front of me.Hewas uncomfortably close;Icould feel his body heat radiating into me.

Hetilted his head, his forehead wrinkling slightly. “Hereand there.”

Iopened my mouth to question him more, to ask if the books ever whispered to him, but he held up a hand to stop me.

“Letme get you some dry clothes.Afterthat, we will talk.”Heheld his hand out, pointing toward a hall that snaked off from the opposite wall. “Itold youIwould answer your questions, andIwill.”

“Mydress is mostly dry now,”Isaid, holding up the fabric.Thedismissal of his concern was more for the sake of getting answers than a desire to stay in my damp clothes.Theywould dry eventually, butIwas uncertainIwould get a second chance at answers.Especiallyfrom such a mysterious and deadly being.Decidingto push my luck,Idropped the fabric of my dress and asked, “Whyare you so willing to answer my questions?”

“Youare damp and covered in mud.Areyou saying that is your preferred state?”Heraised an eyebrow, pointedly ignoring my last question and replacing it with his own.

Mycheeks burned.Itwas clear that my answers would be on his terms, or not at all.Adraft blew through the house, sending a shiver down my spine.

Witha heavy sigh, he nodded at the wayI’dwrapped my arms around my body and then began leading me down the hall.Wemoved down the short stone hallway, stopping in front of a heavy wooden door across from another.Hepushed open the door. “Thereis a trunk full of clothes just inside the doorway.Takewhatever you please.”

Inodded my head in thanks and followed his direction to the bedroom, pulling the door closed behind me.Thecurtain hanging over the windows was a heavy green fabric that reminded me of the moss that threatened to overcome the rocks along the riverbeds.Pullingit closed, the room darkened considerably, leaving the only light from a pair of candlesticks along the dresser.Iturned to the trunk and opened the lid, and clothes of all sizes and types spilled out.

Idug through the clothes asIforced myself not to consider the source of the clothing.Ifound a simple wool dress that appeared to be about my size and pulled it out.Shuckingoff my dress was harder thanIhad expected, as the fabric was not entirely as dry asIhad believed.

Iquickly pulled on the thick green dress, trying to fight the chill washing over me.NowthatIhad stepped away from the fire in the main room,Iwas feeling every bit of the cold.Thedress fit better thanIhad expected.Pullingmy hair out of the collar,Itwisted the damp curls off my neck, looking around for something to pin them back with.WhenIfound nothing,Isighed and let the strands tumble down my back.

Easingthe door open,Itrailed my fingers along the stone of the hallway asImade my way back to the sitting room.Thestones were cold and rough against my fingertips but then warmed under my touch, despite no flames unfurling from my body.Itwas as if they were welcoming me.Turningto look at the wall asIwalked,Iwatched my fingers dipintothe stone, disappearing to the first knuckle.

Airescaping my lungs in a gasp,Isnatched my hand away from the wall.

Hurryingmy steps and ensuringItouched nothing else,Ireturned to the sitting room once more, stopping short at the sight in front of me.TheHorsemanwas sitting at the small table and chairs in front of the bookshelves, stirring a small spoon into the teacup in front of him.Heappeared remarkably normal.TheDullahanhad a fire that lit itself, books that whispered to people, walls that sucked in those who touched it, and yet here he was, drinking tea.

“Ah, you found something suitable,” he said when he noticed me.Hepushed a teacup and saucer to the other side of the table as he beckoned me to sit down. “Here,Imade you cinnamon tea.”

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