Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
I go and grab him a towel, holding it out for him as he climbs out of the bath, and then I wrap it around his shoulders, gathering the ends at the base of his throat. I place my hand on his cheek briefly, his beard soft and wet, and give him a kind smile. “Let’s have a drink.”
Chapter 17
Kat
Brom is back.
He’s back and in my classroom, of all the places to show up.
How is this possible?
Crane meets my eyes, and in them, it’s more than obvious that he knows Brom, except he knows him as Abe. His expression is torn but then quickly melts into his teacher mask, chin raised, eyes turning a cool grey, though the curiosity in them can’t be quenched. He never looks so alive as he does when he can’t figure something out.
I look back at Brom, meeting his eyes now, and though they don’t seem to acknowledge the professor at all, I realize I can’t just stare at him open-mouthed like this, frozen in time.
“Brom?” I manage to say, my voice coming out high and squeaky.
He gets out of his seat, and my goodness, has he grown. Not just up—he’s still around six feet or so—but in terms of muscle. He’s really earning that moniker of Brom Bones now.
“Kat?” he says, and the sound of his voice brings relief flooding through me.
This is him.
This is him.
The entire class is watching as he strides toward me and envelops me in a huge hug, his arms wrapping around me with near bone-breaking strength. He smells like he always did, like bonfires on an autumn night, warm and cold at the same time. He smells like my childhood, my teenage years. He smells like a home I thought I’d lost.
“Oh God,” I whisper against him, burying my head in his chest, the scratchy wool of his coat harsh on my skin, tears threatening to come down my cheeks. “It’s really you.”
“You’ve changed,” he says, his large palm at the back of my head, cradling it. “You’re a woman now.”
I laugh, joy flowing through me like a river. None of this seems real.
“Is this a dream?” I ask.
He pulls back and grabs me by the shoulders, those black eyes skirting over my entire body, looking impressed, an impish smile on his face. “You look like a dream,” he says. “So maybe it is.”
I feel my cheeks go pink. “Brom, I have so many questions.”
“Ahem,” Crane says, clearing his throat loudly.
We both turn to face him and realize we’re not only holding up the whole class but that Sister Margaret is standing in the doorway, grinning at us. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her genuinely smile before, and the effect is disconcerting, like watching a cat try out a human expression for a change.
“May I?” Sister Margaret says to Crane, extending a hand into the classroom.
“Please,” Crane says imploringly, obviously wanting an explanation for all of this. Crane may not know that Brom has been missing, but he’s at least wondering how he came to be in his classroom all of a sudden.
Sister Margaret walks into the classroom and steps up on the platform in front of Crane’s desk. Her hood is down today, but she’s in the same long black cloak as the Sisters always are.
“Students,” she says, her voice bright and carrying across the room. “We have a new student joining you today. He’s born and raised in Sleepy Hollow and just came back after a four-year absence. Everyone say hello to Abraham Van Brunt.”
She gestures to him with an even wider grin. I had no idea that Sister Margaret knew anything about Brom, but she’s treating him like he’s a star pupil. In fact, Brom never showed an inkling of witchcraft while I knew him, but perhaps that’s changed. I mean, it has to be—why else would he be attending the institute?
The class gives a lukewarm welcome with a few hellos. Brom may not be a Van Tassel, but the fact that he’s from Sleepy Hollow and the fact that Sister Margaret is positively glowing over him means that they’re also placing him in the same category as they put me. Not the same. An “other.”
Brom gives an awkward half bow, his eyes darting over the room briefly before finding mine again as Sister Margaret turns her attention over to Crane.
“You should have a little chat with Brom after class to try and get him caught up with what he’s missed. Perhaps a few private tutoring classes should do it.”
Crane’s brows go up briefly, but his face quickly goes neutral. “Very well.”
But Brom is still staring at me as if he can’t believe I’m really here. That makes two of us.
“Brom,” Sister Margaret says. “Can I speak with you out in the hall? Katrina, your presence is requested too.”