Hey guys! Welcome to Chapter 15! Thanks for the reviews and the faves!
As usual, I also want to thank FateMagician, my Beta Reader, for their invaluable work. I learned a lot about writing in English through their editing and I'm doing my best to put that knowledge to good use :)
No Abraham in this chapter, I'm afraid, but you'll see quite a lot of him afterwards. More than in the first version of the story, even ;) Enola's presence won't change the episode much, if at all, but I needed to introduce an item that will play an important role later.
"A what?"
"A Wendigo," Abbie repeated. "It's a creature from Algonquian legends, a cannibalistic monster. The transformation's triggered by blood and it can only return to human form after eating human organs."
"Charming," Enola mumbled with a grimace. "Well, I'm in, of course."
"Great. Can you join us at Pioneer Point?"
"No problem. See you in a bit."
Enola hung up her phone and went back to the living room. Katrina sat in one of the sofas and was reading the new art book the vampire had lent her, and she knew that Abraham was in his room, pretending he wasn't reading one of the books she had brought—an edition of Poe's tales. It was missing from the pile on the coffee table and she knew that Katrina had begun Jane Eyre.
"Is everything all right?" Katrina asked, looking up from her book.
Enola made an annoyed face.
"Unfortunately, no," she grated. "Another monster on the loose. A Wendigo."
"Oh. I have heard of this curse, but I have yet to see its effects," the witch said thoughtfully. "Will you be assisting Ichabod and Miss Mills ?"
"Of course. I'll go and pack my things, and then I'll be off. I just wanted to wish you a good night."
"Very well," Katrina said with a nod, abandoning her book to go to the vampire. "Do you need help packing?"
"Oh no, it's fine, don't bother."
"You three be careful," the witch bade as she took her friend's hands in hers. "From what I have read, a Wendigo is not to be trifled with."
"We'll be careful," Enola promised with a smile. "See you tomorrow, Katrina."
She returned to the kitchen and stacked her empty Tupperware containers and her wireless speaker into her backpack. After that, she put on her coat and her scarf, picked up her helmet from the kitchen table, and hoisted her backpack onto her shoulder before making her way out.
Enola hadn't come to the estate the previous day—that was the day after her disagreement with Katrina—because, as she had explained in the note she had left to the witch, she had lessons to plan and students' works to grade, and she couldn't afford to get distracted. Also, she needed her laptop and an internet connection. This was only partially true: she did have tests to grade but she had already prepared her lessons for the next week.
What she had actually needed was to take a step back. So, late in the afternoon, after finishing her work, she had sat down in her couch with a glass of bourbon, and pondered. Why was I so eager to befriend Katrina? The answer wasn't hard to find: curiosity and admiration. She was Ichabod's wife, a witch, a strong woman who had defied the social conventions of her time by breaking off an arranged engagement, and had remained sane after living for two and half centuries in Purgatory. But that was only the tip of the iceberg and Enola knew it. There was something else, something much more self-centred.
She didn't want to be alone forever.
She wanted a friend that she wouldn't have to watch wither and die.
And Katrina was immortal.
It didn't take a genius to complete that line of reasoning.
Not that she didn't appreciate Katrina for herself: the witch was kind, clever, strong, and eager to learn. She also wasn't devoid of humour, even though she rarely showed it. Enola enjoyed conversing with her and teaching her about what had happened between the present days and the witch's time. They had shared bits of their past, particularly about their childhood and their adolescence, for now avoiding the sensitive topics like Katrina's betrothal to Abraham or Enola's transformation into a vampire and her relationship with Cyrille.
The revelation of Katrina's lie about Mary Wells had been like a glass of cold water splashed in her face. It had reminded her of the very important fact that the witch was using Abraham's feelings towards her—something Enola had blissfully refused to see. Yes, they were at war,and yes, they needed information about their enemies' moves. But there weren't many things Enola loathed more than the manipulation of someone's feelings, however hostile she may be towards that someone. She could understand the need for pragmatism in a war with such high stakes, but still, it left her somewhat uncomfortable, even though Abraham wasn't in love with Katrina—he had just convinced himself he was. Katrina, however, didn't seem to have many scruples about her morally ambiguous task. Or, if she had, she hadn't shared them with the vampire.
Enola frowned: Katrina's string of lies had to be much more difficult to swallow for Ichabod. He had basically married a stranger—because, seriously, how could you pretend to know Katrina if you didn't know she was a witch? Magic was an integral part of her! How the hell could you build a love marriage on that, since love was supposed to be based on honesty and trust?! All those lies… No wonder Ichabod couldn't believe in her as he had! No wonder he was hurt… And this, more than anything else, bothered Enola. The vampire was very protective of her friends, meaning the rare, precious persons who accepted her as she was—a blood-sucking undead. So, even though they had both apologized, Katrina for her unkind words and Enola for her overreacting, Enola felt, when visiting the witch, an unease that wasn't there before.
Although maybe, just maybe, this unease was partly due to the fact that now, whenever she saw Abraham, a picture of him shirtless would flash in her mind and she would feel inordinately grateful for her inability to blush. Fortunately, she only saw him during the history lessons since the rest of the time, he seemed to avoid her like the plague. That suited her just fine; she would have avoided him herself if he hadn't been doing all the work already. Not because of the shirtless thing, no—she was still a woman, and he was a handsome man. It was a mere, and slight, physical attraction, nothing to worry about. Totally normal, inconsequential even.
No, it was those damn drawings that disturbed her. They didn't... fit with her vision of him. He wasn't supposed to be capable of stuff like that—creating things that made emotions stir inside her chest. He was supposed to be insensitive, violent, and evil. Nothing more. Well, no, that wasn't exactly true; he was also an excellent fighter, this she could admit, but it had no bearing on his personality.
And their... conversation in the stable? It had been quite civilized, almost... pleasant—she pulled a disgruntled face at this thought. That wasn't good either. They were enemies who couldn't stand each other, a role from which they couldn't—she wouldn't—deviate. So, of course, something like that could never happen again, hence the avoidance.
Enola scowled as she swung a leg over her motorcycle. These thoughts were decidedly too unsettling for her tastes. Fortunately, Abbie had served her a distraction on a silver platter. Beating up monsters was a task that required her full attention, lest someone got hurt. It conveniently kept her mind from wandering down sinuous paths nestled in a darkness beyond which sprawled, she knew, quicksand-pocked marshes. Those were traps she wouldn't fall into.
"Ew," Enola commented with a disgusted grimace as they watched the hairy antlered creature ravenously devour the liver and the kidney Jenny had just thrown at it.
"Hey, you drink blood," Jenny pointed out in a whisper so as not to be heard by Hawley who was still in the surveillance room with Abbie.
Enola had only just met the nonchalant blond man—she had been working when the incidents with the Piper and the Tyrian shekel had taken place—so she didn't want him to know about her nature. Besides, the young man had kept casting interested glances at her, which she found very annoying.
"Oi!" she protested in a hushed tone, shooting an offended glare at Jenny "How is that anything like disembowelling people to eat their organs raw?"
Enola had accompanied Abbie's sister at the medical school to help her bypass the security—she had had to hypnotize two security guards—and choose the good bits from the corpses. No, she hadn't tasted them, but simply used her superior sense of smell to detect the freshest, healthiest organs.
"Good point," Jenny conceded. "Okay, forget I said anything."
"Thanks. And anyway," the vampire went on in an annoyed hiss, turning to Ichabod to jab his chest with a finger, "this wouldn't be necessary if you had let me chase Joey at vampire speed! I could have made him forget about it! But nooo, instead I had to wrestle the damn thing !"
The Witness frowned at her, equally irritated.
"Lieutenant Mills has already told you that she does not want anything… messing… with her friend any more than this curse already does," he retorted.
"My hypnosis wouldn't–"
"Guys!" Jenny interrupted them, pointing at Joey who was turning back into a human.
"Well. He looks much better, doesn't he?" Enola drawled in a light tone. "Too bad he didn't keep the antlers, maybe that would've lightened the mood…"
Enola was reading in the surveillance room in the company of Jenny, who was cleaning her handgun, while Abbie had her long-needed talk with Joey. Ichabod and Hawley had left to ask Hawley's Algonquian acquaintances for help. But, as always, this more or less peaceful moment wasn't to last: the main door of the cell was thrown open without warning, startling everyone, and two men pointing guns at Abbie and Joey rushed inside, followed by none other than Henry Parrish.
"During the Revolution, prison structures like this had a sentry at every post," the warlock taunted before continuing in a more serious, disdainful tone. "The hexes in this cell may limit my powers, but they do nothing for those antiquated locks."
Enola met Jenny's gaze and the human nodded, her face hard and determined. She quickly loaded her gun and the slide clicked twice as she pulled it back and released it. The two young women slunk towards the door leading to the cell. Parrish's goons were turning their backs to it, making their work much easier.
"Drop it," Jenny ordered Goon 1, her gun aimed at his head.
"One wrong move and you can say goodbye to your cervical vertebrae," Enola growled to Goon 2, clutching the nape of his neck in a vice-like grip.
"What a marvellous family gathering!" Parrish exclaimed mockingly. "Hello again, Miss Vallombreuse. I hear you've been visiting my dear mother."
The glare Enola cast him was burning with such hatred and disgust that the warlock almost flinched.
"I'm surprised you didn't try to prevent me from doing so."
"Oh, Abraham assured me that you didn't discuss anything in relation to the coming Apocalypse. And if it's what it takes to keep her tranquil, then so be it. That's one fewer thing to worry about."
Enola almost asked how Abraham could possibly keep an eye on them if he was shut away in his bedroom, but thought better of it. Parrish didn't need to know that his accomplice had in fact no idea what Katrina and Enola talked about during the vampire's visits—except for the history lessons. Still, she toyed with the idea for a second or two, thinking of how amusing it would be to sow discord between the two Horsemen.
"Well, I'll be sure to thank him for his support," she sneered.
"Lower your guns," Jenny demanded again, interrupting the conversation. "Now."
"Violence," Parrish sighed with a falsely disappointed tone. "Always violence or orders with you three. In the interest of avoiding a total bloodbath, I suggest you give me the Jincan."
"Or, I could simply break your minions' necks," Enola bit out. "No blood involved."
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," Parrish warned, pulling a small vial from a pocket of his coat.
The vial contained a dark brownish powder. It would have looked perfectly innocuous had it not been held aloft between Parrish's thumb and forefinger—as it was, Enola felt a cold, viscous dread pool in the pit of her stomach. Not good! her mind snarled urgently. Notgoodnotgoodnotgood...
"This contains blood samples from two dozen innocent inhabitants of Sleepy Hollow, cursed by myself," the warlock explained, staring at the vampire with utter malice. "All I have to do is to spill the dried blood, and it will latch on to you. You will be then seized by an irresistible bloodlust directed at its former owners."
An inhuman growl rolled deep in Enola's throat and she bared her lengthening fangs—Goon 2 grunted painfully when her hold on his neck tightened unconsciously. In her eyes, the hateful fire turned into an inferno of loathing and fury. Right now, if the man had been kneeling before her, defenceless and begging for his life, she would have ripped his head off without hesitation.
"Wherever they are, you will find and kill them," the warlock went on. "When they are all dead, the curse will end and only then will you realize what you have done. Will you be able to go on living, knowing you butchered more than twenty innocent people, hmm?"
A red haze began to cloud Enola's vision as the predator in her started taking over. The beating of Parrish's heart filled her ears, his heart that sent all this luscious red blood to run in his veins, like the jugular pulsating along his neck, underneath the fragile skin… Her mouth watered when she imagined the blood flowing in her mouth, rolling on her tongue… She could almost feel her fangs break the skin and sink in the flesh… Almost hear her victim's painful gasp… Parrish said something she didn't hear, but Joey stepping forward with his hands held up and shouting "Stop!" startled her out of her bloodlust-induced daze.
"If I get you the Jincan, will you leave them alone?" the young man asked, resolution lacing his tone.
"No! Do not help him, Joe," Abbie warned urgently.
"She's right," Enola hissed. "He doesn't care about human beings, he wants them all dead! Why makes you think he'd bother to save one of them, huh?"
Joey frowned at her words, clearly hesitating. He glanced at the young woman but her face was still turned towards the warlock, hiding it from his view.
"Fine," Parrish hurriedly snapped to divert Joey's attention from Enola. "I'll honour your request. But first, get me the Jincan."
Enola hated feeling helpless, and the fact that Henry Parrish was responsible only increased her loathing for the warlock. She had hated realizing there was nothing she could do without being forced to kill innocents. Hated watching Joey follow Parrish. Hated knowing she could easily have broken open the door barred by Parrish's minions, and yet not daring to do so. Hated having to wait for Ichabod and Hawley to return with the cure.
Fortunately, the hunt that had followed had been satisfying enough to vent her anger. The vampire sighed in content, stretching languidly under her sheets: it had felt so good to free her inner predator… Just simple, primal hunt, catching a scent, following it, tracking her prey, instilling fear in its mind to drive it towards the dead-end alleyway, unaware of the trap until it was too late. The fight that had ensued, albeit short, had been a nice outlet too. She had been the one charged with obtaining the blood, a task she had accomplished effortlessly—keeping the Wendigo away from her friends had been more entertaining.
At least the cure had worked. Enola scowled and turned in her bed to lie on her stomach. Yes, they had saved Joey, but Parrish had the Jincan, and they had no clue as to what he intended to do with it; nothing good, obviously. But seriously, what good could you do with the deadliest poison in the world? Apart from destroying it? And she was ready to bet her head that Parrish had no intention whatsoever of doing so. No, his spells would mold the poison into some new monstrosity that he would soon throw at them. In the meantime, all they could do was wait for him to make his move, and then scramble for a solution that they'd, as always, find in the nick of time. And after that, when the tension in their bodies had ebbed away and they sat together with a comforting drink, a thought would skulk at the back of their minds like a ghostly wild dog prowling around a shadow-swathed hollow. A thought no one would dare to voice for fear of giving it substance.
One day, the nick of time wouldn't be enough.
Well, talk about a positive note... Anyway, I assume that everyone guessed which item I was talking about. It won't be used for a good while, though.
I know that, in the show, the Wendigo is presented as a Shawnee legend, but that's not correct. As FateMagician pointed out to me, it actually originates from Algonquian folklore. Seriously, whoever wrote the show could have gotten at least that right... It's like the soucouyant in season 3. Did you know it's actually a vampiric fireball that disguises itself as an old woman during the day? Nothing to do with insects.
I'll update in two weeks but after that, you'll have to wait until FateMagician gets around to editing the next chapters.