The Cursed Hollow (Return to Sleepy Hollow Book 1) by Candace Wondrak

Author:Candace Wondrak [Wondrak, Candace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-08-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

It turned out, doing research involved looking at a lot of old, musty books. Crane had a lot of them. After I showered and threw my clothes on, I did my best to help, even as the hours ticked into the night. Crane had a vague plan, but it was not one he would disclose to me, probably because I’d think he was ten different kinds of nuts. Or I would have, provided I never saw the Headless Horseman and was still in my own personal la-la land when it came to spirits.

All Crane kept saying was: “Your father and I were working on a few different things.”

Okay, yeah. So specific.

So I kept my mouth shut, not knowing what the hell I was looking for. Basically, I turned into the food-fetcher. The drink-getter. The person who Crane told to fetch a pen and all the other useless stuff. Like I was some kind of assistant to his crazed brilliance. I wouldn’t go so far as to label Crane or my father brilliant, but seeing as how this shit was real, neither were as crazy as I’d thought.

Sometime during the night, I must’ve fallen asleep in the chair near the windows in the library, because the next thing I knew, I woke up, the barest hints of sunlight streaming onto my face. As I came to, I found a blanket had been draped over me, laying atop my toes all the way to my hunched torso.

I sat up straight, a crick in my back from the uncomfortable position. Beneath the blanket, a book slid out, hitting the wooden floor with a thud. Stretching first, I bent to pick it up, snapping it shut as I glanced all around. The library was practically the size of my apartment back home, its walls full of floor-to-ceiling bookcases, jam-packed with ancient texts and leather-bound tomes. Some of it, I’d discovered last night, was in another language. Crane had told me he could read every single book in this space, which I just found ridiculous.

I sat in the only chair in the large room; Crane had made himself at home at the desk. It was a wide, spacious thing, made of a dark wood, leather stitched into its top. Nearly a dozen books sat splayed atop it, most of them open to random pages—although Crane would never say they were random.

Crane, I noticed, was nowhere to be found.

I swear to God, if that bastard went to bed on a comfortable mattress and left me here only to get an ache in my lower back, I was going to kill him.

Tossing the blanket off me, I set the book down on the chair before marching out of the room, heading straight across the hall and to his bedroom…where Crane wasn’t. The sheets didn’t look touched since our prior intimate activities.

Huh.

I checked the bathroom; nothing in there, either. I headed down the stairs, checking the living room and the dining room, half expecting him to be there, sipping tea with a superior expression on his face.

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