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)
By the time the sun came up, casting pale gold on the surface of the black lake between the patches of fog, I was already in the dining hall getting breakfast, a tray of eggs and salted pork, before anyone else was up, including the students. I’m amazed I have an appetite at all, and it’s only when I finish my meal and get a cup of coffee from the cook that other teachers and students start coming in.
There’s the two girls who walk in matching outfits. They must be sisters, their faces similar, their braids coiled on their heads matching. They exude a quiet energy, a shy one, and even though it’s only been a week since classes started and I’m still getting to know everyone, I recognize them from my mimicry class. They’re from Oklahoma, and they both seem fascinated by astrology. One of them, in particular, I know has prophetic dreams.
There’s a man, Doug Smith, who is probably a few years older than me, his beard peppered with grey, who shows promise in psychometry, which is what Leona has—the ability to gain foresight by touching objects. He showed this off in my psionic class yesterday.
Then there are the teachers, who don’t always eat in the dining hall at the set times. This morning, I recognize the shy and quiet Ms. Peters with her sad eyes and ruddy complexion, sitting alone with a slice of bread and syrup, but there’s no one else to be found. I at least wanted to see Daniels or Desi to inquire if they had heard any peculiar noises last night. I know I might sound a bit daft by asking, but I have to know it wasn’t all in my head.
I reach over to my coat pocket and slide my fingers inside, finding the paper. As long as I have this, I know it wasn’t a dream.
I finish the rest of my coffee and get up to procure another cup when I bump into Sister Sophie in line.
“Professor Crane,” she says to me, her face brighter with her head free of her hood. Sister Sophie is the twin of Sister Margaret, both looking exactly the same except for a small mole above Sister Sophie’s lip. But while Sister Margaret is rather cold and stiff, Sophie’s personality is a little more pliable, and she’s easier to talk to. “How are we this morning?” she asks, adjusting the copper pin at the throat of her cloak.
My jaw tenses while I think of what I should say to her. Would the truth make me look weak? I take a chance.
“Tired, actually,” I say as the iron-eyed cook refills my coffee cup. I nod my thanks and walk with her slowly across the hall. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“I know what that’s like,” she says, blowing on her coffee. “Too many thoughts in your brain rattling around.”
“You’re not wrong,” I tell her. “That’s usually the case.”
That’s why opium was such a godsend for me. I’d been clean ever since I came to Sleepy Hollow—Leona forbade it—but boy did it ever help in making me feel at peace for once. It made me feel normal for a change.
“It was different this time,” I go on. I come to a stop and fix her with a pertinent gaze. “I woke up because I had heard something out in the hall.”
“Oh?” she asks, her thin brows knitting together.
“I heard crying, and then…it was enough for me to get my lantern.” I go on and tell her the rest of what happened, ending the story by bringing out the piece of paper from my coat pocket, careful not to spill my coffee on it. “This is what they wrote.”
I wave the folded paper until it snaps open and show it to her.
Her lips purse as she looks it over. “I see,” she says in a low voice. She glances up at me. “Not a very funny prank, is it?”
“A prank?” I gape at her. “You think this is a prank?”
She gives me a wry look, like I’m a complete dunce. “The students’ dorm is in the building across from yours. Do you really think that a little harmless ribbing isn’t on the repertoire for them? It’s part of the hazing, Professor Crane. Surely you’ve been through that before.”
“A hazing is a thumbtack left on the teacher’s seat or a student hiding all the chalk,” I say indignantly, though I’m careful to keep my voice down. “It is not someone killing a snake and putting it in a teacher’s room and writing a warning in blood!”
She chuckles, smoothing her hair back before pulling up her hood, enveloping her face in shadow. “Oh, you are fretting over nothing. First of all, that is not a warning. That is a saying that we have here. Welcome to Sleepy Hollow. May you never leave. Because you’ll love it here so much. And the dead snake, which I’m sure they found in the garden, probably died from natural causes. No harm, no foul. Let me ask you, when you went to explore the halls, did you lock the door behind you?”