Page 19 of Lord of the Hollow Court
“Hello?”
The lanky schoolmaster stepped over the threshold, sighing a little as he shrugged off the bite of the autumn night. The wetness on his cheek and neck had proven to be a cut, and there were burning scrapes on his hands. Surely the master of the house would have someone see to him, and perhaps offer him a well-appointed bedroom for the night. Despite all the carriages down the drive, a house like this must have plenty of bedrooms to spare. He was sure the beds here led to far better dreams than the stingy mattress filling at the widow Beekhof’s home.
Already assured of his welcome to his unseen host’s fete, Ichabod searched the foyer for a chair where he might remove his muddy shoes—damn that horseman who’d startled him, leaving his finest clothes ruined! But he did not see a chair.
As he took another cautious step into the foyer, he noticed, then admired the decor. The decorations—spider webs like spun sugar and spooky garlands of red apples dripping something vibrant and strange—were a little tasteless, but the rich could be peculiar like that.
“Hello?” Ichabod called again. The sound of voices, and of musicians happily sawing away on their strings, was muffled from here.
A voice called back, sultry and surprisingly close. “Human?”
A woman, dressed head to toe in a gown of mirror disks, with a perfect mirror on her face that somehow reflected goat eyes back at him, appeared in the doorway. She raised her chin, nostrils flaring wide. There was something so strangely animal-like in the way she did that, so...
Predatory.
A shiver ran down Ichabod’s spine. Movement in the corner of his eye suggested something else neared him, trailing down the walls. Something dark and thick, of deep scarlet in color.
Blood? Was thatblood?
Were the wallsbleeding?
Before Ichabod could issue so much as a yelp, the woman in the mirror gown was joined by a man in a purple suit, his billowing black cravat twisting around to stare at him with luminous green eyes. It was not a cravat at all, but a cat clinging to his front. Ichabod followed its claws, searching for where the cat ended and the fabric of the man’s outfit began, when his eyes slid higher, finding a long ear behind the man’s wide mutton chops. And on it went, higher and higher, until it ended in a vampyric point.
Vampyres.He had stumbled upon a den—or was it a nest?—of vampyres!
“Human,” the man said, voice strangely wet. He was salivating. Over Ichabod.
“God save me,” Ichabod cried, and raced through the open door, diving into the mist.
“Human!” the woman cried.
As his feet crunched through the decaying leaves, the only sounds Ichabod could hear were the stampede of heels behind him, then the muffled sighs of skirts and jackets. He had the feeling the vampyres had discarded their shoes.
On Ichabod went, the stitch in his side from evading the horseman returning in an instant. There was tearing behind him, and the rapid padding of leaves. The vampyres were discarding their clothing—perhaps changing into great, hairy beasts!
Pausing only to change direction, Ichabod raced on, skimming the edges of the trees. He was not eager to go inside. Could vampyres climb trees? Of course they could. As a schoolmaster, he had superior reasoning. If Ichabod hid amongst the trees, there could be a vampyre waiting to leap down upon him as he passed, and then Ichabod would be lost for all of eternity.
So he ran forward, ever forward, steps taking a slight curve, never knowing that he drew more fae as he entered the gardens, where so many of the revelers were passing the night. He neatly avoided tripping over a raised bed, using his long legs to jump up and run across them.
“Human!” a voice cried. “A woman!”
“No, it is a man! He’s close, I can smell him!”
“That is a woman’s smell—where is she?”
The voices grew louder, more frantic, an argument breaking out among them. Ichabod heard glass break, the piercing sound chased by a wrenching cry and a snarl. The ground shook, as if the vampyres were tearing down walls to reach him.
This is my best chance.Gathering all the courage he possessed, Ichabod flew into the woods, hoping he was right and the vampyres were all behind him. The sound of leaves crunching behind him had diminished, at least. If he could hold on a little longer—
Was that hooves he heard?
Within seconds, the headless horseman was upon him, the steed rearing. Ichabod dropped to his knees, covering his bare head, his tricorn hat long-since lost. This was it. May God protect his soul from these fiends—
The horse landed, snorting mist and pounding toward Ichabod. The schoolmaster squeezed his eyes shut.
The hooves passed him.
He looked over his head just long enough to see that the horse had lost its headless rider, and that it was between him and the scrambling vampyres.
