The all-points bulletin had been in effect for less than an hour when the first body was discovered. Abbie was briefing the search party when she was abruptly called back to the station. Sheriff Reyes met her in the hallway with a grim look on her face.

'We found the missing student.' Reyes spoke in a low voice, her arms crossed tightly across her chest.

'Dead?'

Reyes nodded. 'Found in the burial ground of the Old Dutch Church. The autopsy will tell us more, but the circumstances in which he was found speaks to a ritual killing.' She lowered her voice further. 'We've taken your friend, Ichabod Crane, into custody.'

'What?' Abbie nearly had a stroke. There was no way… no possibility… Crane would never…

'It was only for form's sake, I assure you. Mr. Crane was even more baffled than we were, but the body had a note attached to it. It said, "Tell Ichabod Crane that he can stop this, if he chooses." Care to enlighten me?'

Abbie shook her head, but it took no more than a heartbeat to realise what the note meant. 'Where is Crane now?'

'We gave him a cursory interview and confined him to your office.'

Abbie practically ran the few dozen metres to her office, blood rushing in her ears. When she saw Crane, sitting rigidly in a chair in front of her desk, she thought she might die from relief.

'Crane!' She took two steps and immediately remembered herself.

'Lieutenant.' Crane stood up and bowed slightly. 'I presume you have heard about the missive attached to the slain young man. I'm sure you have drawn the same conclusions about who wrote it.'

Abbie nodded. 'Katrina – it could only be Katrina. She's back and she's taking no prisoners.'

The atmosphere in the Archives was rife with tension. It was night, and though each member of the group was engrossed in their own activity, their thoughts were all focused on Katrina, wondering what her next move might be.

Joe and Sally pored through manuscripts of magical and druidic lore, searching for ways to reverse the spell the coven used to return from the dead. Sally felt the full weight of her task, knowing that she was partly responsible for what had happened. At the same time, it was hard to suppress the glow of happiness that rose from deep within her whenever she thought of the last few nights, spent in a haze of bliss with Joe in the sanctuary of the Masons' cell. She had never felt so safe, so loved in the company of another person in her life, and although he had never said the words, she was sure that Joe felt the same.

In their perch in the corner, Crane and Jenny were doing an itinerary of their weapons and ammunition, preparing for the worst. Their actions were mechanical and routine – it was as if they knew deep down that they were fighting a losing battle.

Shortly before midnight, Abbie's phone rang. Crane watched as she absorbed the latest news, her eyes growing wide and hollow. He recognised this expression from those few occasions when she abandoned her usual formidable strength and allowed him to see her vulnerability.

As soon as the call ended, she sat down, summoning her strength. Every eye in the Archives was directed at her.

'What is it?' Crane said gently. 'Tell me, Lieutenant.'

'It was a woman this time – they found her in the grounds of the Historical Society. There was a note pinned to her blouse. It said, "What is your most precious possession, Ichabod Crane? What would hurt you most to sacrifice? Think on it."

'Jesus,' Joe muttered after a long moment of silence. 'Is this turning into a running communication? She just keeps killing people until we figure out her riddle?'

'And helpless to stop her,' Sally murmured.

Crane stood to his feet, his hands held stiffly behind his back. 'We must find a way to speak to her. Whatever she wants, I am clearly the target.'

'She wants to make you suffer,' Jenny commented, carefully oiling her handgun. 'It's pretty clear she's preying on your most obvious weakness.'

'Which is, might I enquire?'

'You've got a compassionate streak a mile wide. You hate to see others in pain – that's why she's targeting the innocent. This message makes it clear that she's stepping it up. She wants to cause you pain, to take something away from you. "Your most precious possession"?

'It's pretty obvious really,' Abbie said quietly. 'It's me. It's her twisted way of telling you that she wants me. You killed her to save my life – therefore, I'm "your most precious possession". I'm pretty sure that next message will set out her demands.'

Crane began to agitatedly pace the floor. 'Under no circumstances. Under no circumstances will I allow that to happen. I'd give myself up first.'

Abbie gave a sardonic smile. 'And rob her of what she wants the most – to watch you suffer?'

'Then what do we do?' Joe interjected. 'I mean, I'm loving the insight into Katrina's psychotic witch-brain, but how do we stop her?'

'It's not just her though.' Sally stared at her hands as if they were the culprits. 'She has the most powerful coven in the history of Sleepy Hollow to help her. Even at my strongest, I can't compete with them.'

'Maybe we're looking at this in the wrong way,' Abbie mused. 'We've got one witch, two Witnesses, and two direct descendants of Grace Dixon. Who knows what we can conjure if we put our minds to it?'

'And what am I, chopped liver?' Joe quipped, releasing some of the tension in the room.

'No, Joe. Something tells me that those witches won't be expecting what we've got planned for you.'

The third body was found just before dawn, this time in the main street of the town. A note was found in the front pocket of the old man's blazer, declaring, "By now you will know what I desire. Come to the place where you and I first made our vows by the crest of the full moon. Deceive me, and the innocent will continue to suffer."

Crane instantly knew the place Katrina meant. It was not the Old Dutch Church where they were married – it was a small glade just south of the town where they had plighted their troth under the shade of a sprawling oak tree. His heart twisted with grief at the once-happy memory being exploited for Katrina's evil purposes. These sick pranks were evidence that the woman he had once loved was gone for ever, and in her place was an irredeemable monster that he knew he must destroy.

He would never hand Abbie over – as much as he knew anything, he was sure of that. The faintest thought of losing her caused him actual bodily pain. It was overwhelmingly clear to him that the pure friendship that he had once felt for Abbie had blossomed into something else. It was a revelation that left him light-headed and giddy, but at the same time, the truth was so obvious that he felt like a blind fool for not seeing it before.

What he felt for her was deeper than physical desire, yet more covetous than mere friendship. He wanted her desperately, but he knew that he would sacrifice everything to secure her happiness. As they staked out the woods in preparation for their confrontation with Katrina that night, it was as if he was looking at Abbie for the first time. Her beauty was more radiant than starlight and even more unattainable.

It struck him with some force that even if she felt the same way about him, his association with Katrina might be too painful for her to bear. It wounded him to think of how much trouble and heartache he had unwittingly introduced into her life. Despite their destiny, their bond and everything that seemed foretold and inevitable about their partnership, he could not deny that his marriage to Katrina had set a train of anguish and trouble in motion.

'Hey Crane.'

He was jolted from his reverie to the realisation that Abbie was gazing at him expectantly. They were crouched amongst the undergrowth on the other side of the glade, waiting for Katrina's arrival. 'Forgive me, Lieutenant. What did you say?'

'I said, are you ready for this?'

'Fear not, Lieutenant. I shall be – as you say – on my game.'

'That's not what I meant, Ichabod.'

Crane started at hearing her call him by his Christian name. He was only able to recall one other occasion – that cursed day when she made her fateful decision to remain in Purgatory in Katrina's place.

'Whatever Katrina has she's become – she used to be your wife. I can't imagine what you must be feeling right now.'

'Lieutenant… Abbie…' He stared into the distance, terrified of meeting her eyes. 'No matter what may appear tonight, the woman I once loved is gone forever. All that matters to me is you.'

He paused, the words dying on his tongue, wishing desperately he could unsay what he had just said. Before he could torture himself further, Abbie was in his arms, her lips pressed against his, clutching him desperately. He dared not question if this was a dream, all he knew was that her body felt like heaven. All thoughts of being a gentleman disappeared in a haze of need. He felt her tongue graze his and a groan sounded deep in his throat.

The noise seemed to waken Abbie from her frenzy. She leaned away from him, her eyes glazed.

'Sorry,' she whispered sheepishly.

'Don't be,' Crane replied with adoration. 'You've made me a very happy man indeed.'

'We should…' Abbie dissolved into fits of giggles.

'Focus on the matter at hand?' Crane suggested, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He felt elated, confident that they could overcome any danger that came their way. Nothing mattered to him but the thought that Abbie might be his.

A twig snapped somewhere nearby, alerting them to another presence among the trees. They crouched down further, silently surveying the glade. The full moon briefly emerged from behind the clouds to reveal the pale form of Katrina standing in a clearing below them.

Crane gave Abbie a long look, full of unspoken meaning before they prepared to approach.

They each silently prayed that their friends had done their job properly; otherwise they would be walking straight into an ambush.

'Katrina.'

Crane's heart rent at the sight of what used to be his wife, her face illuminated by the moonlight. He recognised the beauty that had once made his breath stop, but it did not take long to realise that something was horribly amiss. Her skin was translucent, the prominent veins beneath making his flesh crawl with disgust.

A smile contorted her face as she regarded him. 'My love, I'm so pleased you remembered this place. We were so happy here… once.'

'I tire of your games, Katrina. I have come here, now state your business.'

Her forehead gathered into a mass of confused wrinkles. 'Have you not guessed what I seek? I had hoped that my last missive was explicit enough, but if you need further clues…'

'I know what you seek Katrina. Now state your terms.'

Katrina smiled again – a sickly rictus of insanity. 'My terms are simple, Ichabod. Hand over your dearest, darling Abbie and I will refrain from killing your townsfolk.'

A surge of anger swelled in Crane's breast. He felt a powerful temptation to wrap his hands around her slender neck, but he knew that given her newfound power, the gesture would be pointless. 'You imagine I will allow you and your coven to torment her at your leisure? How little you think of me, Katrina.'

'Torment her?' To her credit, Katrina looked almost scandalised at this accusation. 'How little you think of me, Ichabod. No, we want Abbie to join us. Her magical lineage is strong – though not witch-born, she has vast untapped reserves of power. Who knows what we can achieve with a Mills on our side?'

She examined his face to see the effect of her declaration. Crane struggled to keep his expression impassive, to deny her the pleasure of watching his pain.

'Where is she, might I ask? I hope you don't plan some jape at my expense, Ichabod. My sisters are close by, be assured. They will take your disobedience very ill.'

Abbie appeared from the darkness. 'I'm here, Katrina. And I wouldn't put too much faith in your sisters – they're otherwise occupied.'

She watched as Katrina's expression wavered from the smug look of triumph to barest hint of doubt. Earlier that day, Sally had used a locator spell to find the Four who Speak as One. The mystical power that they generated made her task a simple one – they were hiding in an abandoned mine on the outskirts of town, waiting for Katrina's instructions. Using a binding spell recorded in Grace Dixon's journal, Sally, Abbie and Jenny were able to exploit the coven's power to render them immobile.

'I had hoped that you would be more amenable, Abigail Mills.'

Crane noticed a shrillness to her voice that he had not noticed before. Her face suddenly appeared haggard and strained. It was clear that the magical energies that she was invoking to stay alive were sapping whatever life force remained in her.

'I'm afraid you'll never find me amenable, Katrina. I'll fight you to my last breath, if necessary.'

Rage flared in Katrina's blood-shot eyes, making her appearance truly terrifying. 'And how shall you challenge me?' she roared. 'I am Katrina Van Tassel, heir to the most powerful witch bloodline on this continent. I have come back from the grave to wreak my revenge on both of you. Tell me what weapon you have at your disposal to oppose me?'

'You may be all those things, but we have something that you will never have.'

'And what is that?' Katrina laughed with open mockery. 'Love? You think your bond with your fellow Witness can protect you? Or is it friendship? Do your friends lurk in the trees, hoping to ambush me? I and my sisters will ravage you all and leave your corpses to the crows!'

'No,' Abbie smiled simply. 'We have a wendigo.'