The dank stone of Pandora's lair echoes with the incantation's final syllables. At the top of the short swoop of stairs, at the gaping maw of the tree's opening, Crane holds his breath. His eyes bore into the darkness, willing it to open and accept him into its depths.


In the week since Abbie's face had appeared to him, he had tried a slew of different spells pieced together from every obscure, dubious tome that he could secure in his accelerated frenzy of research. These had degraded into bizarre language quilts of Greek, Sumerian, Chinese, Latin, and Egyptian, invoking rites and deities rare and estranged from the scope of human history. Jenny had watched his haste, her uneasiness growing with each reckless attempt, ones that now skirted with the use of dark magic. Tonight, finally, she could not keep quiet.

"Crane, are you sure about this? If you run down there and try every spell that you find, you might end up releasing something you don't want released. I mean, have you even translated this completely? Do you really know what this is going to do?"

Crane did not look her at her. He swept on his coat and strode to the door. "Miss Jenny, I appreciate your concern, but—"

"Seriously, Crane, you don't want to end up in a worse situation."

At that, he froze with his back to her, the doorknob in his hand. "Worse? Worse?" He rounded to face her. Perhaps it was the shadows cast by the fading sun that trickled through the front windows, but his haggard features held an element of danger that took even Jenny by surprise. "How could any of this be worse? Do you think for a moment that I fear a demon emerging from the depths? Should that cause me alarm? I care not! Let any demon who dare come before me. I shall cut them all down, anything that gets in my way!"

Jenny's jaw dropped slightly, and she took an unconscious step backwards, hitting the coffee table with her calves. Her shock managed to pierce the layers of his ferocity. The edge of fire in his eyes dimmed slightly, and he lowered his head. "Forgive me, Miss Jenny. I was not suggesting I would attempt to harm…" He closed the door soundlessly and clasped his hands behind him, his tone tight and bitter. "She saved us—without hesitation, without a single thought for herself, she saved us all. The very last words she had before entering the portal was for our welfare. And now, she is…"

Crane faltered, uncertain how to explain the depth to which Abbie's image had haunted his every moment. In the years he'd known her, with all of the horrible creatures and desperate circumstances they'd faced, he could recall no instance of her exhibiting fear; often, it was her iron resolve that was his anchor, buoying his spirit, no matter how insurmountable their task. But he had seen it, the fear dusting the curves of her face like frost and seizing Ichabod's chest in its icy grip.

Of late, that grip had ominously tightened.

"She counts upon me to retrieve her. I cannot fail."

"Look, Crane, she's my sister. I want her back, too. I know how—"

"No! No, Miss Jenny, you don't know!" he hissed, lurching forward and grabbing her by the shoulders.

Her eyebrows knit together in a line. She raised her palms to the side in frustrated askance.

Crane ran a hand down his face and breathed in and out deeply through his nose, beating back the well of panic he could no longer ignore. "Something has shifted for her, wherever she is. I can feel it inside me, as sure as my own heartbeat. Our window of time to extract her is closing. If I do not bring her back soon—" his voice cracked, reduced to a dry whisper, "—she will be lost."

"What does that mean? Are you talking 'permanently'?"

"Forever."

"You've got to be kidding me!" Jenny clenched her fists and began to pace the small area between the door and the kitchen. "Since when does the supernatural come with a damn expiration date?" She slammed her fists down on the counter, rocking the spice jars in their rack. "How much time do we have?"

"I do not know," Crane returned, his voice hollow. He glanced at her over the collar of his coat. "Not long."


The seconds tick by in silence. The shaft of moonlight from beyond the tree's crippled branches illuminates only a fat cloud of dust that wafts languidly down to the pool of water below.

Jenny and Joe, who had stood guard by the entrance, exchange a mournful look.

As the seconds stretch into minutes, Jenny makes her way reluctantly to the foot of the stairs. "Crane, I guess we should—"

She's thrown to the ground when the cave is rocked by a tremor, as if crustal plates had slid beneath their feet. Joe skids to her side to help her up, but both are leveled by the next quake. A fissure erupts, splitting the floor from one wall of the other, and the pool of water churns and spouts over its rim. Crane grips a knot of the tree in a vice to steady himself, fending off falling branches and chunks of stone. He coughs in the thick billow of particles as the tremors fade.

When he is finally able to peer over the edge of the stairs to check on the other two, he catches a glimpse of a dark shape floating in the unsettled water. It freezes the blood in his veins.

"Dear God, Abbie!"

Crane reaches the last step and vaults over their heads before Jenny and Joe can register what has happened. He plucks Abbie from the pool with one arm and cradles her to his chest, repeating her name in a tortured whisper, over and over, as if it were also a spell to be cast. She does not speak or move; streams of water run from her hair and from between her paled lips. Her right arm falls away, and Crane snatches it back, placing it carefully in her lap, inwardly horrified by the bruises and scrapes that mar it.

Joe lays a cautious hand on his shoulder. "Crane, can I…?" He holds up the medical kit he has brought.

"Let Joe check her out, Crane, to make sure she's all right," Jenny encourages.

Ichabod nods absently but refuses to let her go. Instead, he sinks to the ground, supporting Abbie's limp form with his own body, resting her head upon his shoulder. Joe opens his mouth to protest, but judging from the other man's red-rimmed eyes and set jaw, it would be fruitless to argue. Instead, he gets to work, checking her vitals, reporting as he goes: "Breathing regular…pulse steady…pupils responsive…body temp low, might be hypothermic." He places his fingertips to strategic points. "Nothing appears broken, though she's a bit…banged up…" His eyes flicker to Crane's face, a stone mask. "I bet she's dehydrated, too. We should get her out of here, get her some fluids."

Joe closes his bag and retreats to Jenny's side. "I'll go get the truck." He squeezes her elbow and jogs out of the cavern.

"Why…why has she not…" Crane's unsteady voice fades as he fights to retain his composure.

"I'm sure it's exhaustion, Crane," Jenny supplies, clearing her throat to keep her own tears at bay. "She'll wake up soon. If I know my sister, she'll be ordering all of us around in no time." She smiles weakly.

Crane boosts Abbie higher against him and stands up, draping his coat over the both of them. He brushes back the matted hair from her forehead, pressing a gentle kiss to the clammy skin.

Then, he feels it: the slight curl of tiny fingers around the collar of his shirt, bunching the fabric just a hair. A whisper, scarcely more than a breath, brushes his ear. "Home..."

That's it. Relief overwhelms him, makes him lightheaded, and he staggers a few steps. There is nothing he can do now to stem the tears; shamelessly, they baptize Abbie's crown where his cheek rests upon it. "Yes, Abigail, yes! You have returned; you are safe, you are safe now," he babbles, squeezing her as tight as he dare.

Finally, Jenny gives a watery laugh, wiping her face on her sleeves. "Ok, ok, enough already! I just have to say that this cave sucks big time, and I am sick of it, so I don't know about you guys, but I am outta here." She slaps Crane on the back, turns on her heel, and strides out.

Ichabod pauses for a small moment, simply to relish the feel of Abbie—his Abbie—in his arms once again, after the interminable days and intolerable nights without her. Then, he tucks the edges of his coat under her knees and around the frail knobs of her shoulders. "Come, Lieutenant, let's go home."

Stepping beyond the fissure, he carries Abbie over the threshold and into the night.