I can't remember if it's been two or three weeks since the last update... I think it's two. Anyway, rejoice! Abraham's back and you'll see quite a lot of him in the next chapters! Actually, I even added a couple of scenes with just him and Enola because I thought there was a lack of those. You'll have to wait a bit to enjoy them, though ^^
I want to give a big thanks to my Beta Reader, FateMagician, without whom this story would be full of mistakes and imperfections. I don't know what I'd do without you!
"This is insane!"
"Are you nuts?"
Ichabod glared at Enola, the source of the offensive question.
"We are considering making a carbon copy of the headless Horseman," Abbie pointed out in a harsh tone, and the vampire nodded vigorously.
"Except, with a head," Jenny supplied.
"This Kindred wouldn't just be a monster, it would be our monster," Ichabod argued. "One that fights for us... an equal to the Horseman."
"Woah, woah!" Enola protested, raising her hands. "Hold on a moment. Let me get this straight: basically, you want to distract the Horseman while you go in and free Katrina, right?"
"Yes, and?"
"And to stall him long enough, you need someone who's a match for him in battle."
The humans immediately caught her meaning and started protesting all at once, but Enola simply folded her arms and stared at them flatly.
"Enola, come on!" Jenny huffed as the Witnesses searched for something else to say. "We're not going to use you–"
"You won't!" the vampire objected, waving a hand. "I'm the one suggesting it! Besides, it's not as if you were throwing me to the wolves: you know I can defend myself! You know I can beat the Horseman!"
The humans gestured as if they were going to disagree again, but Enola didn't let them utter a sound.
"You don't know if we can control that Kindred, or even if it will work at all. Maybe we'll just be giving the Horseman his head on a platter," she reasoned, anticipating and countering any argument they might have. "And if it does work, what then? How do we destroy it? And what if it escapes? Then we'll lose the head and who knows what that creature could do? Now, you know I'm too fast and strong for the Horseman to defeat, and you know you can rely on me without having to worry about my loyalty to you. So, do you have any valid objection?"
Ichabod tightened his lips, Jenny shrugged in resignation and Abbie ran a hand through her hair with a reluctant sigh. But if the lieutenant was completely honest with herself, Enola had just voiced her own doubts: so even if she was still reluctant about using her friend as a bait, Abbie couldn't pretend that her offer wasn't convenient.
"No, we don't," she therefore answered. "Thanks, Enola."
"Oh, it's okay," the vampire said with a smile. "You know, maybe I'll actually let him defend himself this time. It's been ages since I've had a proper sword fight. Well, a sword-and-axe fight, in this case."
"What, no trying to rip his heart out?" Jenny teased, her eyes gleaming with wry amusement. "You going soft, Vallombreuse?"
Enola raised her eyebrows in a falsely offended expression while trying to fight off the smile that threatened to appear on her lips.
"I think you have me confused with someone else, Mills. Why don't you come and enjoy the show, see just how soft I am."
"Why not? I'll even bring popcorn."
"Aah, popcorn," the vampire sighed wistfully. "One of the many things that make me regret being unable to stomach solid food..."
"Well, at least you can still drink alcohol," Abbie pointed out with a smirk. "That's what matters, right?"
"It would be better if I could get drunk," Enola grumbled, a mutinous pout on her lips. "Anyway… When will we do this? Tonight?"
"No, tomorrow night," Abbie rectified. "I have complete trust in you fighting skills but I'd rather be well-armed, just in case."
"Yeah, with our luck Death will be receiving the other Horsemen for dinner and we'll have to fight the four of them. Ah well. The more the merrier, right?"
"Two hours ago I was teaching French to teenagers. Now I'm about to fight one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse."
"At least your life isn't boring," Abbie pointed out with a smile. "Ready?"
Enola adjusted the leather strap that fastened her sword to her back, re-tied the laces of her cherry-red Dr. Martens ankle boots, took in a couple of deep breaths to dissolve the last shreds of nervousness—after all, he was still the bloody Horseman of Death—and nodded.
"Yeah, ready."
She shrugged off her leather jacket, revealing the close-fitting black tank top she was wearing underneath, and tossed it on the back seat of the Land Rover. The vehicle was parked on the earth trail leading to Willow Point estate, a good hundred yards away from the building. The night had already fallen, bringing rollers of mist and thunder—which was anything but normal since it was January. Enola wrinkled her nose in slight disgust and refrained from rubbing her bare arms: it was so unnatural… all the more so as the rumbles of thunder were the only noises. There wasn't even a breath of wind. Nature seemed to be holding its breath, just like the first time she had seen the Horseman. Fingers brushing her shoulder broke her out of her musing and she turned her head towards Ichabod, who looked a little concerned.
"All you all right, Enola? Are you certain you wish to do this?"
The vampire flashed a roguish smile at him and lifted her chin cockily.
"Of course I am! What do I have to fear anyway, hm? I've defeated him before, and I'll do it again tonight. Besides, the less time Katrina spends with him, the better," she added more seriously.
"Indeed," Ichabod approved. "And Enola… Thank you again."
"Oi!" the vampire protested, swatting his arm. "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm your friend. It's normal for me to help you, there's no need to thank me. Understood?"
"Yes, Miss Vallombreuse," the Witness answered with a half-amused, half-grateful smile and a low bow.
His theatrics made Abbie and Enola smile and shake their heads. But all traces of amusement vanished from the vampire's face a second later and she tensed up, her narrowed eyes fixed on the estate and her nostrils dilated, like a cat alerted by a strange noise.
"He's coming," she whispered, and her eyes flared at the perspective of the fight. "Hide."
The Witnesses nodded and retreated—Abbie towards the Land Rover, and Ichabod away from the path and towards the house—as hoof beats began to thump her eardrums. So you think you're the hunter, hm? Let's prove you wrong. The thought of ambushing her prey made her mouth water and she let her human mask slide off her face. She disappeared in the shadows with a feral grin.
Abraham strode into the stable and busied himself saddling Daredevil, all the while trying to focus on tonight's objective—killing Ichabod who had so foolishly jumped right into the lion's den—and not on the fact that, finally, he had good reasons to hope that Katrina would be his. And this, of her own free will! Amazing how much lighter he suddenly felt. Almost giddy.
This thought made him scowl: the Horseman of Death wasn't giddy, for Moloch's sake. In his annoyance, he pulled a little too hard on the saddle's girth and Daredevil snorted in protest, turning his head and lightly bumping his master's arm with his muzzle.
"Sorry," Abraham apologized with a smile, patting his stallion's neck.
When he led his horse outside, the part of his mind still absorbed in thoughts of Katrina was quashed by the chill night air and the peals of thunder—and then only anger and vengefulness were left in him. Tonight, Ichabod Crane would finally die and he felt a dark thrill at this idea. He could already feel the blade of his axe slice through his enemy's neck, see the shock on his face, the blood glisten under the moonlight. He mounted Daredevil in a fluid movement, grabbed his broadaxe, and launched the horse on the earthen trail leading away from his estate. A handful of seconds later, though, he pulled on the reins to slow the stallion down, frowning in confusion. No one was there, and yet he could see, parked farther on the trail, one of those stinking, noisy modern vehicles—a car was it? He brought Daredevil to a stop, his eyes searching the darkness and listening intently, but there was no noise except for the thunder. Yet he felt he was being watched… like mere prey. Daredevil had apparently the same impression, for he snorted and shook his head while pawing the ground nervously. Abraham stiffened and lifted his axe, ready to strike. An uneasiness he had experienced only once before began to seep into him like frost creeping over a window. The last time I felt that way…
He heard a rush of air and something rammed his body with the force of a cannonball, hurling him down his horse. He brutally landed on his back, barely noticing his assailant somersaulting away from him, and jumped to his feet as fast as he could before taking his guard. Enola was standing in front of him on firm legs, her arms folded and her head cocked.
"Hello, sweetie," she said, gazing at him with a mocking smile and taunting eyes.
The derisive endearment made him scowl fiercely—Sweetie?! He was the Horseman of Death!—and he glared at her with all the anger he could muster, knowing that she would sense it. But she didn't run for the hills as any sensible person would. Instead, her smile widened, which infuriated him even more. What would it take for that woman to fear him, or at least to stop mocking him?
She drew her sword, the blade singing when it slid out of its sheath, and took her guard. Her smile hadn't faltered but he wasn't foolish enough to think she was underestimating him: her eyes had hardened and were following his every gesture, trying to find a flaw in his guard, to anticipate his next move.
A question remained, though: where was Ichabod? Henry had said he would come tonight to rescue Katrina, and yet he was nowhere in sight. He was certain Enola wouldn't have come just to fight him, so… Ah. Of course. His heart dropped to his stomach as he realized that she was the distraction. Right now, Ichabod was probably running towards the estate, if he wasn't already inside… Fury erupted in him and the edge of his axe flared—fury mixed with a hint of hopelessness. He knew that the young woman would never let him go back to Katrina, and that she had the means to do so—the memory of their last fight was still fresh in his mind. He let out a growl she couldn't hear. The Sixth Circle of Hell would freeze over before he lost Katrina without a fight!
Abraham lunged at Enola, swinging his red-hot axe in a deadly arc–
She had vanished.
The ground gave way beneath his feet when something swept his ankles and, again, his back collided with the ground. He rolled, pushed himself up, expecting the pain of her sabre plunging in his body… Much to his surprise, he managed to get up unharmed. Enola was standing between him and his estate, a sarcastic smile hovering on her lips. It wasn't difficult to understand that she was playing with him, like a cat with a mouse, and this enraged him further: he was the Horseman of Death, not a toy, not a source of amusement, and not mere prey! He glared at her, pouring all his fury and hatred into his gaze, and hoped it would burn her. Instead, she cocked her head and something inscrutable flashed in her eyes.
"I suppose you want me to stop playing with you," she said flatly. "Fine. I did say I would give you a chance to fight back, after all."
And before Abraham could be surprised by her concession, she attacked. Only this time, she checked both her speed and her strength—not enough to put herself in actual danger, but now he could at least defend himself properly. It felt like a much more even-handed fight and he might have enjoyed the challenge she gave him if Katrina wasn't at stake... and if knowing that she had to restrain herself wasn't hurting his pride.
It lasted a good ten minutes during which Abraham used every stroke, every feint, every riposte he knew, and although there were a few close calls he didn't touch her once. Some of his blows would have landed if she wasn't so fast, he was sure of it. She wasn't a better fighter—in fact, he had the superior technique. Only, she had superior physical capabilities. It was like trying to catch smoke with bare hands. Or trying to get past a barrier of whirlwinds: each time he managed to take a step towards his estate and Katrina, a kick or a punch would send him three steps backward.
He was going to lose Katrina, and there was nothing he could do about it.
He had never felt so helpless and it was infuriating! His rage was like a red haze over his eyes, fuelling the strength of his blows, and useless. Suddenly, while she was deflecting one his strikes, Enola froze for a split second, her eyes losing their focus. He didn't even take the time to wonder about the cause of her change in behaviour: he adjusted his stance, struck… and she dodged again, but not before the edge of his axe bit her left shoulder. Unfortunately, he had no time to enjoy the pang of satisfaction sparked by her painful hiss. Then there was a blurry movement in front of him, something hit his chest and, for the umpteenth time, he crashed on his back. At this moment, he heard what had distracted his opponent: heavy hoof beats, growing louder by the second.
War.
"Merde!" he heard somewhere above him.
Just as he was sitting up, a booted foot pressed down on his chest, forcing him back on the ground, and Enola's face entered his field of vision: her eyes were red orbs pierced by the black holes of her pupils, and her canines had grown into fangs—the characteristics of a vampire, according to Henry. The warlock had done some research, but so far he hadn't turned up anything else than the usual stories: garlic, crucifixes, coffins, sunlight, holy water, wooden stakes, et cetera. Now, of course, the problem was to sort out truth from fiction.
"You should take a deep breath because this is going to hurt," the young woman advised coolly.
She tightened her lips as something strangely akin to regret flitted across her face.
"Sorry," she mumbled.
What?! Before he could react, she vanished from his view. Pain exploded in his left shin and, a split second later, in the other one as his tibias snapped in two with sickening cracks. Enola didn't hear his howl, nor the stream of curses he hurled at her, as she strode towards War.
Ha! Plot twist! They still have the head! Which means no Kindred, which means no 'Kindred Spirits' in season 3. Before you ask, yes, I know exactly what I'm going to do with it. You, however, will have to wait quite a while to find out.
Daredevil is the name of the horse in Tim Burton's movie and the one that almost everybody uses in their Sleepy Hollow fanfics, so I'm going to change it. Well, to be more specific, Abraham's going to change it (with Enola's help). Why not give him another name right away, you ask? You'll understand once you read Chapter 13 ;)
Still waiting for those last thirteen reviews, guys... I wanna reach one hundred!