a/n: Write, rewrite, rinse, repeat. I am none too pleased with this chapter, and two months of rewriting has not made me any happier. It is time to set it free. On a better note, I now have two completed chapters to post and a third on its way.
Bleak
Chapter Six
"I hate this part," Abbie zipped the backpack. "We research, we plan, we prep…" She moved to the red, velvet-lined chairs. "And then we wait." She dropped heavily into the chair next to Crane. He lifted his eyes from the small, black book and looked at her.
"You would prefer, as you sister has stated, to 'go in guns blazing'?" She smiled softly and nodded. "Have our adventures thus far not held enough excitement for you?" he teased gently.
"I just…the longer we sit here…" She pounded her fist against her palm. "We have to get in there, get it done. There's no room for more thinking. There's no time for second-guessing what we're about to do." Crane shifted toward the front of the chair's cushion, turning to face her fully.
"At the risk of sounding conceited, I believe there is a great amount of wisdom between us, Lieutenant. There has always been." He reached for her, gently settling his fingers over her hand. "With everything we have learned, everything we have accomplished since our meeting, second-guessing should no longer be in our nature."
"I suppose you're right," she nodded. He squared his shoulders.
"Of course I am." Abbie laughed and pushed away his hand.
"You know, we still haven't figured out how we're going to take out the host." He looked away, his eyes thoughtful.
"We must trust our instincts when there is no answer to guide our way; trust that opportunity will present itself when we are at our most prepared."
"Nice ambiguous answer, Crane." He smiled and bowed his head. "I'm probably going to pace," she stated as she stood and walked away. "Try not to count my steps this time." He raised an eyebrow.
"I can make no such promise, Lieutenant."
SH
Though Jenny had tried to keep an optimistic air while searching for the first victim of the Yuki-onna, she honestly did not believe she and Hawley would find him. It was an odd twist of luck, unusually convenient, she supposed, that the first section of wooded area they explored held the body. The panic and terror on the deceased man's face made her physically ill as she could not help but wonder how much he had suffered, cold and alone, bound with no means of protecting himself. The hollowness sat heavily in her chest as she placed a call to Reyes, and resurfaced as she relayed the news to Crane and Abbie.
Jenny shifted in the passenger seat of Hawley's truck, lurching to the right then to the left as the wheels turned over an even portion of the parking lot's surface. She was tired. The night before had been a whirlwind of information, theories and plans, and the accompanying dose of adrenaline made sleeping an impossible task. Even as she had reached a point in the early morning hours when her momentum had finally given out and she started to shut down, Jenny found herself suspended in a cycle of sleep that drained more energy that it replenished. Then minutes before her alarm was due to ring, she had woken with a start, the images of the homeless man burned into her mind.
"Are you all right over there, Tiger?" Jenny directed her attention through the windshield, Tarrytown Psychiatric looming over them, ominous as ever.
"I don't get it," she said in way of answer. "Frank is a good man. He loves his wife, he adores his daughter." She looked at Hawley. "How does someone with such a big heart get the short end of the stick?"
"I don't know." He placed his hand on her shoulder, fingers gently relieving her muscles from a tight knot of tension. "Look, if Irving helps us…that has to be good for a few points towards redeeming his soul, right?" Jenny nodded. "Your sister was right, what she said last night about one step at a time. We need to get these two very big obstacles out of the way. Then we can help Irving."
"Okay," she nodded again. "Okay, I can do this." She lifted her hand to her shoulder and brushed off Hawley's fingers. "Be inconspicuous."
"Can do. I'll meet you by the front desk." Jenny took one more look at the building in front of them.
"Wish me luck," she muttered as she exited the truck.
SH
"Lieutenant." Crane huffed a heavy sigh and tossed the book onto the chair beside him. Rising, he moved to stand in front of Abbie, halting her movements by placing his hands on her upper arms. "Though I have come to know very well how you manage your anxiety, I must say that in this moment your incessant pacing is driving me utterly mad." She tilted her head to the side as she regarded him.
"Is that so?" she asked.
"Indeed."
"Is it because I told you not to count my steps?"
"If it were only so simple," he replied. "I am afraid I must request that you find a different method of releasing your stress."
"Hmm." He noticed the change in her stance, the balling of her fists; the determined look in her eyes.
"Do not do that," he said, holding up his index finger.
"Do what?"
"You are poised to attack," he noted. He had been privy to this type of reaction only once, three days after her escape from Purgatory. Abbie had battled through nightmares, fatigue and a great deal of uncategorized emotions. Though she had done so quietly at first, shooing away everyone's concern, she had reached her breaking point one afternoon while speaking with Jenny. Crane had been in the kitchen readying tea when he heard Abbie loudly string an eloquent set of expletives. He had entered the living area of the cabin in sufficient time to see Jenny smiling widely as she ran outside. Abbie had followed, clearly angry.
From a safe vantage point on the screened-in porch, Crane had watched the sisters fight. Abbie lunged, Jenny evaded. Abbie swore, Jenny laughed. It had not taken long for Crane to understand the younger sister's tactics and his curiosity turned to amusement as Jenny wore out the elder. She had taken no effort to move from the path of Abbie's final punch, a lazy attempt at the action. Instead, she opened her arms, letting the lieutenant fall into them. They had collapsed to the ground, Jenny rubbing Abbie's back and whispering soothing words as Abbie cried. It had to happen sometime, Jenny had told him with a smirk and a shrug. Be thankful she didn't go after you.
"There must be some…yoga pose you can assume to call down."
"Maybe yoga isn't going to cut it today," she said, defiance radiating from her eyes. "And you know what that means."
"Lieutenant," he warned gently. "I will not fight you."
"Well you're gonna be hurting in a few moments, Crane," she smiled. Though entertained by her persistence, he held his smile in check and started to walk her backwards slowly.
"Oh, I have witnessed the effect of your punch, my dear Miss Mills," he stated with a nod. "However, I do not believe my height to be my sole advantage over you." She frowned.
"Are you saying you're stronger than me, Crane?" He shrugged. "That's not—" Her words stopped as her back hit the side of the tall drawing table.
"We are not going to fight," he reiterated. His hands followed the length of her arms, sliding past her elbows, locking around her wrists. "Save your energy for our next battle." He wrapped the long fingers of his left hand around both of her wrists and used his right hand to pull the chair from the table. "Sit," he ordered.
"No." Abbie shook her head and tried to pull away. "I'm not—"
"You shall sit of your own accord," he interrupted, "or I shall force you into doing so." She threw her head back and laughed wholeheartedly.
"You're kidding, right?" His hands drifted to her hips and he bent his knees slightly, moving as though he was preparing to lift her. "Okay, okay," she said quickly. Her hand clamped around his forearms and she pushed him away. "I'll sit."
"Thank you." She took a step to the side and lifted herself onto the chair. The chair stood taller than most, easing under the elevated height of the drawing table, and allowed their gazes to be nearly level. "Now, take a deep breath." He inhaled through his nose, lifting his hand as part of his demonstration. Abbie rolled her eyes and swiveled the chair away from him. He frowned. "Lieutenant? You did not take a deep breath."
"No, I did not." She picked up a pencil she found near the edge of the table and began tapping the eraser on the table's surface. Crane stepped behind her and reached over her shoulder to snatch the pencil from her hand. "You take away all of my fun, Crane." He slipped the pencil into the pocket of his trousers and settled his hands on the back of the chair, turning the chair so Abbie was facing him.
"Perhaps we could simply converse instead of creating repetitive and nonsensical movements," he suggested, leaving his hands on the chair's back.
"Fine. What do you want to talk about?"
"I wish to finish our conversation from last night." He cleared his throat. "As I have mentioned, we should understand the reasons behind each other's actions."
"Look, I get it, Crane. I do." She placed her hand on his arm. "Katrina has changed and holding on to what the two of you used to have…" She shook her head. "And it's not fair to force you into staying."
"It would not be just to either of us to give Katrina hope where there is none," he agreed.
"Duty above all else," she nodded. "Okay, great. Conversation had." She smiled and pushed her foot against the leg of the chair, attempting to turn away from him. He sighed and locked his arms, preventing her movements.
"Lieutenant," he scolded gently.
"Captain," she returned with a roll of her eyes. He quirked an eyebrow.
"Always full of sass," he teased. His hands moved from the chair's back to the table's edge, and he leaned in to meet her eyes, hoping to convey his seriousness. "There is something I wish you to know, Lieutenant."
SH
"Jenny, Jenny, Jenny." Frank smiled as they approached each other. "What a welcomed surprise." He wrapped his arms tightly around her, relaxing against her smaller frame.
"Morning, Frank." Jenny slinked her arms around his shoulders, returning the embrace.
"You are a sight for very sore eyes."
"You're in a good mood," she observed. "Did they give you the good meds this morning?" He pulled back to look at her.
"Maybe I just like to see your beautiful face," he replied. She laughed and patted his shoulder.
"Yep. The good meds."
"Give a girl a compliment," he mumbled, shaking his head. "Sit down," he urged. "Stay a while."
"I'm sorry to say this has to be a quick meeting."
"You know," he started, sitting across the table from Jenny, "you are the only one who visits. Crane and Abbie? Well, it's been a while since either one of them have tried to sneak in to see me."
"Yeah, I know." Irving leaned his arms on the table and knotted his fingers.
"Why is that?" he asked quietly.
"It's not that they don't want to visit. Things are…" She shrugged. "Complicated."
"Complicated?" She nodded. "They don't trust me."
"Frank." She wasn't going to make excuses. Irving deserved the truth, regardless of the sting it would cause. "No, they don't."
"It's all right. I understand." He sighed gently.
"It's all Henry, Frank. I mean, he's got you in pretty damn deep."
"It's getting harder to control, Jenny," he said sadly. She reached across the table and wrapped her fingers around his hand. "I feel like I'm losing this battle. Sometimes, I hear things. I see things. I touch people and I feel like I can see into their very soul." He turned his hand, allowing their palms to meet. "I don't know if I'm dreaming or…having…having visions." As he stared at their hands, his sight blurred, his mind clouded.
"Frank?" He lifted his eyes to hers then briefly shook his head to clear his thoughts.
"It happens frequently," he continued. "And it is consuming."
"They're still trying, still looking for a way to free you. We all are."
"No offense, but I'm not holding my breath." Irving offered a small smile. "Let's talk about something else," he suggested. "What brings you by?"
"I need a favor." She gently squeezed his hand and withdrew her arm. "I need you to call Henry. Call him and tell him to come see you this morning."
"This morning? As in…"
"Now."
"You understand that Henry and I are not best friends, right?"
"I know."
"The Horseman of War doesn't just come at my beck and call."
"It's important, Frank." He nodded.
"Why?" Jenny stared at him for a long moment, searching his face. He looked like the Frank she knew, the Frank that loved his family, the Frank that helped protect Crane and Abbie. The Frank she trusted. However, Abbie was right. There was no way for them to know just how deep Henry's effect ran. And with Irving himself unsure of his own control…
"I don't think I should tell you that part."
"You don't trust me, either?"
"Frank," she chided. "Don't be like that."
"I'm sorry." He took a deep breath. "What do I tell him?"
"Anything you want. Whatever will get him here and keep him around for a bit."
"I do have questions about what's happening to me," he said absently. "All right. I will call him. Just for you."
"Thank you," she whispered. He rose from his chair and headed towards the door.
"Jenny?" He turned back to her. "What we talked about the last time you were here…about how I'm…not myself lately? I think it would be best if…" He looked away and laughed quietly, sadly. "Maybe this is the last time you visit me." She stood, poised to argue. "Don't." Irving met her eyes and slowly shook his head. "When I said it's getting harder to control…that may have been an understatement." A string of tears slipped from the corner of her eye. Irving returned to her side and wrapped his arms tightly around her body. "Take care of Cynthia and my little girl," he said, resting his temple against the side of her head. "And take care of yourself. I'm going to need a drink when all of this is over and you're buying." She laughed gently against his shoulder.
"Okay." Reluctantly, he stepped back and left the room. He turned and peered through the door's window, watching as Jenny dropped into her chair, buried her face in her hands and cried.
"I'm sorry, Jenny," he whispered. "But I don't need to make that call. He already knows you're here." Irving turned away from the door and slowly made his way towards his room.
SH
"Your powers are truly remarkable, Brother." The creature smiled at Henry, flashing a set of pointed teeth. "Seeing through the captain's eyes, reading the woman's secrets…remarkable." Henry secured the final button of his long black coat and placed a hand on the creature's shoulder.
"My dear Jonathan, soon you will have powers that far exceed anything you have witnessed, anything you could possibly imagine." He lifted a hand and patted Jonathan's cheek. "Everything will be yours," he smiled.
"I do not understand why we must wait for that moment."
"A small bit of patience is nothing to ask for the rewards due." Henry reached into the pocket of his coat and removed a pair of leather gloves.
"We are no match for the mortals," Jonathan started. "Why do you choose to leave the manor as they wish? Why not stay and relieve them of their places on this earth?"
"There is a time for everything; a manner in which the game must be played. Ichabod Crane and Abigail Mills are nothing more than pawns. Though I loath to say it, they are necessary thorns in our sides."
"What good comes from this?"
"Mother," Henry answered. "Do you recall the conversation we witnessed last night?"
"Yes. Those words hurt Mother deeply."
"They did," Henry nodded. "And from the ashes of Mother's heart will come her day of redemption, the day she frees herself from her mortal bonds and accepts her fated path." He placed his hat on his head. "I must leave; I will be away only a short while. No harm is to come to Crane and Mills. You must see to that."
"I will not fail you, Brother."
SH
Jenny pushed through the double doors and stalked past the reception desk, wiping the tears from her eyes. Her anger, her sadness swirled within her, lurking just beneath the surface. Her determination to save Frank Irving overrode the looming emotional outburst. She was not going to say good-bye; she was not going to let him be victim to the evil. They were going to win this war.
"Hey," Hawley greeted quietly. "How'd it go?"
"He's going to make the call," she answered.
"What do we do now?" he asked, following as she continued through the hallway.
"We let Crane and Abbie know when Henry arrives, then we make sure he stays here until they tell us the host is gone." As they rounded the turn in the hallway, Jenn stopped suddenly. She lifted her hand to Hawley's chest, halting his forward movement.
"Jennifer Mills," Henry greeted with a smile. "Tenacious as always. Your persistence is admirable." His smile fell. "Admirable yet pointless."
"How did get here so quickly?" Hawley whispered. She shook her head.
"I don't know," she whispered in return.
"Tell me," he started, taking a step closer to the pair. "Why are you surprised to see me? After all, you wanted me summoned." He bowed his head. "And here I stand as requested." Jenny frowned and pushed Hawley closer to the wall.
"You're not going to win, Henry," she said, moving them past the older man. "Crane and Abbie are—"
"Ichabod Crane and your sister are too late," he grumbled. He straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin and smiled proudly. "Moloch will rise as planned." Jenny and Hawley sprinted through the front doors and started towards the truck.
SH
Maybe it was the gentle parting of Crane's lips, or the slow darkening of his impossibly blue eyes that robbed Abbie's voice and her mind of the caution she need to convey. Maybe it was the furrow on his brow, the hitch of his breath as his gaze briefly settled on her mouth. Maybe she was being presumptuous, imagining that the way he looked mirrored the way she felt, caution be damned.
"You are my partner in this war; my friend." Crane moved his hand to her cheek, gently brushing his thumb across her skin. The tension in the air between them was strong. It was a drug, strange and sweet, coaxing every cell of her body to attention, begging, pleading for a taste. "And if that is not reason enough to see to your safety…" He took an unsteady breath. "You are so much more to me," he whispered.
"Crane." His name rolled over her tongue in a muted breath. Maybe she was sick, feverish, because the room seemed to spin.
"Miss Mills." Maybe she was delusional, because Crane suddenly seemed too close, his lips just a breath away from hers. Maybe she was crazy, because in that moment, she could do nothing but welcome his advances. "Abbie, I—" Abbie's phone sang loudly from the pocket of her jeans, causing Crane to take a decently sized step backwards, Abbie to push herself as far back into the chair as possible. She closed her eyes, attempting to settle herself as she retrieved the phone.
"That's Jenny." She looked at Crane. "Henry's at Tarrytown."
"So soon?" he frowned. She nodded. "Well, let us not waste another moment."
SH
Abbie cursed inwardly as she followed Crane along the inside of the tree line. The snow-covered grounded yielded no sense of its unevenness and with every few steps, her balance faltered. The contents of her backpack dug deeply into her lower back, poking her muscles in a manner she was certain would leave a bruise. Leaning a palm against the frosted bark of a nearby tree, she watched as Crane stumbled through his own footing, just a few paces ahead of her. From the moment he had contentedly secured himself in the passenger seat of the jeep, his attention had focused on the small, black book. What she had assumed he left in the archives had appeared in his hands, seemingly out of thin air. Had the day been any other, she would have pulled Crane from his reverie, prompting him to share what was on his mind.
Yet the day as it was, the previous days as they were, she remained silent, recognizing his intense scrutiny of the book as simply pretext, saving both of them from wandering through the awkwardness they had shared in the archives. You are so much more to me. Dropping her head, Abbie closed her eyes. Shortly after they had accepted their roles as Witnesses, Abbie noticed a developing attraction towards Crane. Near the beginning, she believed her attraction to the good-looking, intelligent man innocent. Over time, the innocence had taken on a guilt-ridden set of emotions. She loathed being stuck on a man that was not available, loathed thinking about such personal things when the greater good, the fate of the world, was at stake. Shoving her growing attraction to the far corners of her mind had taken all the strength she could find.
"Lieutenant?" Crane's voice was gentle and quiet, and Abbie knew if she lifted her head and opened her eyes she would find him standing in front of her. "What ails you?" As she looked up at him, he lifted a hand. His fingertips brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes, gently tucking it under the hem of the knit hat she wore. He was never anything but kind when he touched her. He never wavered from being a gentleman; always maintained an air of propriety. The frequency of which he made contact with her skin was steadily growing and his pull was becoming increasingly harder to ignore. Complications, she mused.
"I'm fine," she said quietly. He studied her for a moment before nodding, though he clearly did not accept her answer. He took her hand and walked backwards, pulling her gently until they were walking side by side. Abbie adjusted the strap of the backpack over her shoulders and steadied her gaze on the large dwelling coming into view between the trees.
"There." He released her hand and pointed to an area far to her right. She followed his direction to a large tree near the middle of the yard. "I believe that is sufficiently close enough." Abbie nodded.
"Yeah." She looked up at him. "Ready?" He released a breath of uncertainty.
"No." He met her eyes. "Shall we?" They sprinted across the short field of snow and hid behind the tree. "Are you certain you can do this?" he asked quietly. "It is a child, after all."
"Uh-uh, don't you dare start that," she said, smacking his arm. "You know damn well that thing is not a child."
"I know." He closed his eyes and apologized with a slight shake of his head. "I simply meant that it may appear as such."
"Don't worry. I know what it looks like underneath." She nodded and offered a small smile. "I've got this." Abbie turned her attention back to the manor. "We never did decide how we're going to do this."
"Lieutenant?" Crane stepped behind her, gently taking her elbow, turning her to face him. "If ever there was a time for our trust to be strong…"
"Crane," she said slowly. "Just what do you have planned?" His eyes flicked over her head, focusing on the front door of the manor. He pulled the crossbow and quiver from his shoulder, and handed them to her.
"Ready the weapon. Stay here where you can use the tree for cover. Lieutenant, if Katrina should try to protect it, do not hesitate to use whatever means necessary." The seriousness that played across his eyes told Abbie any argument would be a waste of breath.
"All right," she conceded. "Are you going to tell me what you're going to do?" A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and without another word, he brushed past her and headed towards the manor. With a sigh, Abbie crouched behind the tree and pulled an arrow from the quiver. As she drew back the string of the bow, locking it in place, she kept her eyes on Crane. He ascended the short flight of steps, fisted his fingers and rapped his knuckles on the front door. "Seriously?" she muttered. "I'm just going to knock on the front door and maybe she'll invite me in for tea," she mocked in a British accent. "Damn it, Crane. I sure hope you know what the hell you're doing."
SH
"Ichabod?" Katrina quickly glanced into the room behind her then stepped over the threshold and into the crisp winter air. "You cannot come inside," she said, carefully closing the door. "Abraham is nigh." Crane followed as she took his arm, leading him down the small flight of stairs. "Why are you here?"
"Katrina," he started, eyes turned downward, "I have come…to apologize. I have been foolish thinking this war with Moloch more important than our marriage, than our son." She crossed her arms in front of her body, rubbing her hands along her bare forearms. "I wish for reconciliation." He lifted his gaze to her. "If that is what you desire." Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. Once an integral part of her being, the man standing before her was more a stranger than anything.
"Forgive me if I do not jump into your arms, Ichabod," she said coldly. "Much has happened."
"As I realize." He took a careful step towards her and she backed away. "Henr-…Jeremy," he amended. "Jeremy was correct. Abigail Mills' hold on me has been strong. I have been swept away by the wonders of this ear, caught up in the spectacle." He shook his head. "It has done nothing but blind me."
"You were never one to stifle your curiosity," she stated.
"No, I suppose not." He bowed his head and joined his hands behind his back. "Katrina, is it in your heart to pardon my wrongdoing? Tell me what I must do to relieve the strain I have brought upon our marriage. I want us to be as we once were. I want to know my son." He motioned towards the manor. "May I see Jeremy?"
"Jeremy is on errand," she replied. "I do not know when to expect his return."
"And Jonathan? Our meeting was…tense. Perhaps a proper introduction is in order." Katrina huffed an angry laugh.
"Over the previous days you have made known your ill feelings towards my son. And now you want a 'proper introduction'," she scoffed. "I do not know what to make of this sudden change of heart, Ichabod." Crane's fingers tightened nervously at his sides as she stepped towards him. "It is rather suspicious."
"Katrina, I simply want—"
"Do not insult me with your lies. Each word from your lips is laced with treachery." She circled slowly, standing behind him. He turned to her and frowned with confusion. "Do not pretend as though you do not understand. Do you recall hearing my voice three nights ago, imploring you to sleep?" He nodded curtly. "Abraham was suspicious after my return. I needed him to see one moment between you and Miss Mills, one moment that would end his doubt and further my deception." She smiled ruefully. "After all our time together, I would never have thought you capable of such disloyalty," she said.
"You cannot place blame upon us for something you caused, Katrina."
"It is not that night," she started, "rather subsequent evenings. Without the push of my spell, you had no misgivings of following Miss Mills into the bedroom. Last night, you had no difficulties telling her that you did not intend to fight for your marriage. 'Doomed from the moment of our coupling.'" Crane's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Were those not your words?"
"How do you…"
"Did you think I would not notice? True, my time at the cabin with you was short." She circled again. "However, I know you well." Crane swallowed and looked away. I can sense your desire. "I should think anyone capable of seeing that your heart is in the hands of that woman."
"Katrina," he pleaded, mentally searching for a way to turn the conversation to his favor.
"You come to my home, profess your love for me and your desire to reunite our family, yet under what guise?" She narrowed her eyes. "Furthermore, you do so accompanied by the object of your infidelity."
"I am unaccompanied," he stated.
"Which of us is meant for your arrow, Ichabod? Me or Jonathan?" Crane lifted his arms.
"I am unarmed, Katrina. Unarmed and unaccompanied."
"More lies." She shook her head. Crane held his breath as the amulet around her neck began to release an unnatural green glow. The host was close. "If you so desire a proper introduction to Jonathan, than a proper introduction you shall have," she laughed gently. His eyes scanned the area behind Katrina, waiting for the host to make its way through the front entry of the manor. He shifted his stance slightly, prepared to move the red-haired woman and allow the lieutenant a clear shot at the creature. Yet nothing appeared from the door. With a mocking smile, she shifted her gaze towards the yard. Following her line of sight, Crane's eyes widened as two forms emerged from the tree's girth.
"Abbie," he breathed. Abbie struggled as a tall, young man moved her through the snow-covered yard. His left arm circled her waist, pinning her arms to her sides. His left hand held the crossbow; his right hand covered her mouth. Crane studied the young man as they approached. His hair was slightly darker than blonde and he appeared to be twenty or so years of age. His features were all too familiar. "No," he said as they neared. "It cannot be." The young man stopped a few feet from Crane and Katrina, Abbie still tightly in his grip.
"Jonathan, do you remember Mr. Crane?"
"I do," it replied.
"Do not…do not hurt her," Crane pleaded.
"I choose to save the innocent; you seek him destroyed," Katrina spat bitterly. "I asked you not to make me choose between you and my child, Ichabod, and you have not honored that request." The host removed its hand from Abbie's mouth and took hold of the crossbow. With a quick, rough fling of its arm, it tossed her to the ground. She cried out as she landed on her back, the contents of her bag once again piercing her back. Keeping a careful eye on the host, Crane knelt next to Abbie. "No." Katrina lifted a hand, shooting an electrical spark at Crane. He gasped and fell to his side as pain surged through his body. "It is I who has been foolish. I should have known joining my life with that of a mortal would be a grave mistake. You are not able to understand." She titled her head to the side as she regarded Abbie. "The only good to come from our union is Jeremy," she continued. "I have been deprived of my son for far too long because of you, Ichabod." She lifted her hand again, a bright ball of white light forming above her palm. "I wish to deprive you—"
"No," Crane wheezed. "Do not…please." Jonathan gently placed his hand on her forearm, lowering her hand.
"Not this way, Mother," he said quietly. "Their time will come. For now, they must simply leave." She stared at the witnesses for several moments, weighing her options.
"Whatever we were to each other, Ichabod, we are no longer. You are released; free to be with your harlot. A flash of light surrounded Crane and Abbie, and with its dissipation, they were no longer present.
"Mother," Jonathan said quietly. "You need not worry about him any longer." Katrina turned to him. "Brother, Abraham and I…" He gently took her hands.
"Are my family," she finished.