“Any ideas, Dad?” I shout across the circle.
He opens his mouth to reply, but he’s cut off by the Horseman pulling the reins so hard that his mount rears up, blocking my view of Dad and Meredith. His hooves hit the marble again, and the cracks widen. The fissures twist across the floor.
And reach beyond the salt line.
The candles flicker violently.
My stomach drops.
The horse stamps once more, and the vibrations knock one of the crystals onto its side.
It rolls away from the circle.
The unnatural red flames burn brightly for one second more. Then snuff out.
I feel a rush of pressure, and then it’s gone. I know the magic has vanished.
“No,” I hear Meredith breathe in the silence that follows. None of us can move.
The Horseman throws his shoulders back, raising the sword high above his non-existent head.
He advances. The horse crosses the circle in barely a few steps. The sword swings, aiming for my father.
I’m rooted to the spot, but Ichabod reacts faster. He lunges across the room, trying to intercept the blow. The steel sword flashes in the moonlight, then slashes across his shoulder, cutting straight through his jacket and into flesh. He hits the floor with a pained cry.
“Ichabod!” I make to move towards him. I can see the blood already seeping through his clothes, covering his fingers as he clutches the wound.
“Katrina, stay where you are!” my father warns.
I falter.
The Horseman twists towards me.
I look around to see if there’s something, anything I can use as a weapon. But what can stop something like this?
Across the room, my father stands straight. He doesn’t run.
The Horseman turns, ready to strike a second time. He doesn’t hesitate. The blade slices cleanly through my father’s neck, severing his head neatly from his shoulders. Blood splatters across the white ballroom floor in a dark, shimmering arc. He collapses, lifeless.
I scream. I’m vaguely aware of Meredith screaming with me.
The Horseman stands still.
Something in the air shifts. The Horseman shudders, and the air around him pulses.
Before, he still had a slightly smoky, translucent quality. But now he and his horse stand fully formed, solid.
Regenerated.
But he doesn’t come for us, not yet.
Instead, he turns sharply, grabbing the reins of his demonic horse tightly. The beast rears up once more. Then with one last look at us, at me, the Horseman gallops towards the broken doors, and disappears into the night.
26
My father is dead.
The Horseman is free.
