Crane sat on the road, sucking in great draughts of air as he waited for the nightmare to come to an end. No matter how hard he tried, he could not dispel the image of Trudy, still twitching on the road as her life ebbed away.

Slowly it began to dawn upon him that this was no dream. Just as quickly and silently as they had appeared, Henry and his henchman melted back into the night, leaving Crane alone to deal with what had just happened.

All this time, Crane had cherished the notion that he could rescue Henry's soul from Moloch's grasp. He had truly believed that they could reclaim all those years they had lost. Now all Crane could think about was revenge.

Hatred boiled in his veins, blackening his heart, turning every pure and noble feeling to pitch. He burned with fury, wanting nothing more than to feel his hands clasped around his son's neck. He longed to snuff out Henry's life as coldly and callously as the warlock had just ended Trudy's.

Lights appeared on the road, and he immediately realised how desperately he had mishandled the situation. He should have woken Abbie instead of leaving that wretched note. They could have planned a stratagem together. He had been completely unprepared, and Trudy had paid for it with her life.

The car approached and Crane felt a blissful swell of relief. It was Lieutenant Mills' car, but she was not alone.

'Ichabod?' Katrina clambered out of the passenger seat. Her face immediately blanched with shock as she absorbed the sight of Trudy lying cold on the asphalt. 'Abbie, don't look!'

It was too late. Abbie let out a wordless cry of horror and launched herself out of the driver's seat. Crane caught her in his arms, pulling her close as sobs wracked her body. He meant to comfort her, but as he held her, he felt himself coming apart at the seams. He felt tears spill down his cheeks and into her hair.

The world did not stop for his grief. He noted, with some irritation, Katrina leaning over Trudy's prone body, touching pressure points and listening to her chest.

'Ichabod, I need your help.'

'She's dead.' He shook his head in confusion. 'It's too late.'

'It may not be.' She ran back to the car and pulled out a knapsack. 'Your bond with the other Witness will help to guide and channel my power.'

She lit thick candles and carefully placed them at Trudy's head, hands and feet.

'What are you doing?' Crane asked, not wanting to belabour the obvious fact. Trudy was dead. Her lips were tinged with blue and her skin was quickly losing any sign of life.

'Ichabod, you must listen. Gertrude came to me, asking for help. She had prophetic dreams about her own death and feared that her life was in danger. I placed a protective spell upon her, much like the one I placed upon you after your encounter with Abraham. Except this time, I believe I can resurrect her.'

'You believe you can help her?' Abbie found her voice at last. She fixed Katrina with a venomous look. 'You knew? You let Henry take her and do this to her?'

Katrina stood up and faced the smaller woman. 'You may judge me all you like, but Trudy knew her destiny was to face Henry. She knew this had to happen. Now if you want to help me, help me.'

Abbie swung her hand back and sent Katrina reeling with a stinging slap. She savoured the look of shock and pain on the witch's face. 'What you need me to do?' she asked with steel in her voice.

Moments later, Abbie and Crane stood on either side of Trudy's body, clasping hands as Katrina painted symbols on the girl's face and hands with ashes. Slowly – too slowly it seemed – she began to chant an incantation. Nature seemed to shudder with the power of the spell; the trees surrounding them creaked and stretched. Somewhere in the night, a screech-owl cried out as if in pain.

Crane opened his eyes and looked for Abbie, his only consolation. Her eyes were shut tightly in concentration, as if she could bring Trudy back to life through sheer force of will.

Katrina's voice became louder, invoking whatever mysterious spirits she called upon to work her magic. She dug deep, drawing on the very depths of her being to awaken the full force and majesty of her spell-craft.

And then she stopped.

A gasp, as of one half-drowned escaped Trudy's lungs. She coughed, desperately struggling to draw breath. It was Katrina's face she sought out first, her voice raspy and pained as she whispered, 'Did it work?'

'Yes, my dear,' Katrina replied, her eyes shining with tears. 'I believe it has.'

Trudy sighed with relief. She looked up at Crane, standing above her in shock. 'Hey,' she smiled.

Then she burst into tears.

Every molecule in Abbie's body rebelled; every instinct told her to turn back. She was inches from calling for backup. One call and every police officer in Sleepy Hollow would come raining down on Fredericks Manor like winged fury.

No, it seemed that Trudy and Katrina had not done with their scheming.

She sighed in frustration as she leaned against a giant oak, her gun clutched against her knee.

Trudy watched her carefully. 'You're mad at me, aren't you?'

Abbie turned to look at the small girl, her small face gaunt in the moonlight. She was sure she would never forget the sight of Trudy's body lying lifeless on the road. 'I'm not mad. I hate being lied to, that's all. It makes me feel powerless, and I promised myself a long time ago that I would never feel that way again.'

'I know,' Trudy said in a small voice. 'But you were chosen to be a Witness, right? Nobody asked you if you wanted it. That's how it is with me being a witch. It's why I have to go through with this. You understand, right?'

To be amazement, Abbie did understand. All of her life, she had felt out of control, at the mercy of fate. Being a Witness was a heavy burden at times, but it was also empowering. Finally, she was able to take control of her destiny.

As much as she wanted to protect her, Abbie could not deny Trudy that same right.

She nodded, unable to speak.

Katrina knew Fredericks Manor like the back of her hand. The house had been designed to harbour those in need of protection. During her time here, Lachlan and Grace had shown her its many hiding places and secret passages.

She wended her way through the house, employing the strongest shielding technique that Aled had taught her. She smiled when she thought of him; their chance meeting was truly a wonder. His strength and tenacity would put the Sisters of the Radiant Heart to shame.

An inkling of danger alerted her to Abraham's presence nearby. She sensed that he was beyond the wall in front of her, in the room where she had given birth to Henry. Silently, she pressed the secret door and slipped inside.

'Abraham,' she whispered. She watching as he stood by the fire, a headless spectre of death. His image should have provoked horror in her, yet all she felt was pity and sadness.

'You have returned.' His words were conjured by magic – an atonal sound coming from the ether. 'I knew you would.'

'I have returned for you, Abraham. To save you from Moloch.'

A hollow laugh erupted from the man who had once been Abraham von Brunt. 'Save me from the one who gave me mastery over death? Again you fail to understand, Katrina. Moloch shall rise, and only his servants shall survive his fiery reign.'

Katrina shook her head. 'What shall survive of you, Abraham? The man I once cared for? Laughed with?' She laid a hand on his arm. 'What has become of that man?'

Abraham hesitated for a moment, allowing himself to indulge in human contact, something he had not felt for centuries. Suddenly and with fury, he ripped his hand away. 'Your tricks will not work on me, witch!'

'It is no trick. It is your humanity, seeking redress for the harm Moloch has done to you. But I can give you that peace, Abraham. I can give you back your soul.'

Crane and Aled entered Fredericks Manor, carefully checking each room and hidden corner. They were surprised to find the house so undefended, with many of the magical wards weakened. Still, knowing Henry's trickery, they had to be careful.

The attack came without warning. A root unravelled itself from the bannisters and slammed against Crane, pinning his body to the wall.

Henry advanced on Aled, who remained stock-still stood in the middle of the hallway. 'You think you can enter my house uninvited, boy?'

'The time comes for all of us to face our destiny, Henry.' Aled's voice was quiet and unperturbed. 'Your powers are weakening. You cannot even sustain the protective spells you placed on this house.'

Crane saw anger flashing across Henry's face. There was a silent struggle between the two warlocks, each of them battling for the upper hand. Even as sparks flew from the light fittings and sockets and every board in the house creaked, Crane felt that his son was weakening. The root slowly loosened around his body, allowing him to slip free.

'Stop!'

All eyes turned to the doorway, where Trudy stood.

For the first time, Henry's face betrayed fear. 'It's not possible. I killed you.'

Trudy entered the house, closely followed by Abbie. 'You did, but you should know that witches are hard to keep down.'

'Think, Henry,' Aled said. 'Why are your powers failing you?'

Henry shook his head in disbelief. He pointed a shaking finger at Trudy. 'When I touched you, you stole my power.'

'No, Henry.' Crane approached. 'She healed you, just as she was prophesied to do.'

Powerless and surrounded by his most despised enemies, Henry took a deep breath and screamed the name of his only protector. 'Abraham!'

'He's not coming.' Katrina appeared at the top of the staircase, sadness etched into her lovely features. 'He's dead. He renounced his allegiance to Moloch and begged my forgiveness. His soul was made intact.'

Aled smiled at her, as if in some secret agreement.

All at once, Henry realised that his carefully-laid plans had come to nothing. The calumnies and tricks that had allowed him to survive for so long had betrayed him. He was sure there was something horribly ironic about this end – to be possessed of all the power in the world and to be brought down by a mere child. Even his lord Moloch could not save him now.

With the last vestiges of power seeping from his veins, he invoked the death-hex that had lain dormant in him for so long. He could feel the spell working almost immediately, sapping his energy and slowing his heart.

Most unexpectedly, it was not the Horrid King he cried out for in his dying moments.

'Mother, Father, forgive me.'

Abbie was amazed to see Crane and Katrina rush to their son's side. All of the atrocities that Henry Parish had inflicted, all of the pain that he had caused seemed to dissolve away in that moment. As they held their son, watching his life run out, all that remained was love.