The approach of a rider intruded on Ichabod's chaotic thoughts. He looked up with hope and fear warring in his expression. However, the figure which materialized out of the storm was not a dark rider on a nightmare steed. It was instead a slight girl with a sweet heart shaped face and a wild mane of golden hair escaping from a fur-lined hood. She was mounted on a plump white mare and riding to beat the Devil. It was, in fact, the last person on Earth Ichabod had expected or wanted to see.

It was none other than Katrina Van Tassell. His heart clenched and his throat seemed to constrict. At her hurt and confused look, he found himself torn between sweeping her into his arms and begging forgiveness and shaking her until she told him the truth.

She pulled her mount up to a halt just in front of him and fixed him with a questioning gaze. He could not seem to find the words of common courtesy with which to greet her. He just returned her stare measure for measure. The awkward silence spun out until both grew uncomfortable.

Katrina was the first to shatter the stillness scolding him in an eerily mundane tone of voice for leaving without telling her, for coming back to the Hollow alone, and for worrying her sick. She dismounted and caught his arm urging him up off the wet ground. Numbly he obeyed. Recent events took on an unreal feeling. It was as if he was moving through a thick mist isolated from the world around him moving to a will other than his own. Not until he felt the warm, coarse hide of the mare under his hand was he able to shake the feeling and return to his senses.

Roughly, he pushed Katrina away from him. As if on cue, the heavens chose that moment to open drenching them both instantly. Katrina's wounded look changed to one of concern. "We need to get you back to the village, some food and warm clothes will make you feel better. You'll catch your death in this weather." She felt his cheek and forehead. "You must have taken a fever already to have wandered out here." Her eyes seemed to light from within at the idea. He knew too well what Katrina was trying to do.

She never really changed at all. She was almost childlike in that way. She would brush aside anything that did not fit into her perfect little world just the way she thought it should. She seemed to feel that if you did not acknowledge an unpleasantness it could not exist. She would bundle him off back to New York and use whatever means necessary including her magic to convince him and herself that nothing was ever wrong that this had all been a fever dream or a side effect of his insomnia. Then she would see that everything went back to normal, at least on the surface.

She would lie to herself until she believed it and expect him to do the same. He could not let that happen this time. He had bowed to the will of others all his life, no more. It was time he chose his own path. He would not live a lie. The truth had to be revealed now, no matter how painful or ugly. He recalled his words to young Masbath so long ago. It was true, sometimes Evil was at its most treacherous when it wore the mask of virtue. His mind made up, he caught her tiny wrists firmly as they withdrew from his face.

"No, I do not have a fever, and I am not returning to the Village. We are going to settle some things right here and now." Katrina stepped back as if she had been slapped. Her face went from concern, to surprise, then hardened into a determined look he was very familiar with. She put her hands on her hips and was about to reply harshly when her eyes lit on the heavily embroidered cloak now soaked black with rain. They travelled down to the ripped shirt visible under his vest and the dark bruise just below his collarbone.

A look of horrified understanding crossed her features and she actually backed up a pace. Ichabod saw recognition and revulsion fill her eyes and desperately changed the subject catching her off guard before she could begin either accusing him or demanding an explanation. He made his voice as harsh as he could and allowed anger to sharpen his words into a weapon.

"This symbol you drew the day we were here, the day you burned the will, it is a love charm not a simple design, is it not? Did you bespell me then? Have you kept me under your spell all this time, made me your slave with your white magic and your lies? If you ever cared for me even a little, tell me the truth, Katrina. For the love of your very soul, confess now."

"Bespell you?" Katrina's voice rose a level of shrillness that would have been most fascinating under other circumstances.

"Is that what he told you, that murdering demon?" Anger blazed in her eyes. She seemed to loom in the bright slashes of lightning in spite of her slight stature. At that moment, he would have been hard put to guess which of his lovers would win in a bare fisted fight.

"No, this told me." His voice was cold as he pulled the thin book from his pocket. The bullet damaged cover could not be mistaken. Her own gift served as mute accuser to her deception. "It's all in here, page twelve diagram C, but you knew that didn't you." He cast the book of magic to the ground at her feet.

She stared at the book, but made no move to rescue it from the rain and mud. Then she seemed to crumple before him. Anger and indignation fled leaving her defeated and trembling.

"I...It was...I didn't mean to hurt you. I just wanted...a chance to show you..how I felt." Her blue eyes brimmed with tears. Ichabod believed her. This was the Katrina he had thought he knew, the one he still cared for in so many ways.

He could hardly blame her for trying to hold onto something she really wanted. She was a Van Tassell after all, and blood will always tell. He could not let her know that yet, though, he needed to know one more thing. He felt a pang of conscious as he used her guilt and remorse to trick her. Forcing bitter anger into his voice, he pointed to the symbols drawn in ashes and demanded she tell him what the other rune meant.

Confused, Katrina looked at the second image in the ashes. The rain was blowing hard, blurring the edges of the runes. They were both still clear enough to be read though. She traced the second sign with a tiny finger that was steady and sure in spite of the emotional outburst and the icy torrent.

"I didn't draw this one. It's a personal symbol. The person that drew it meant it as a protection and a guide. I didn't do this. I don't know who did, I swear it." She rose slowly from the ground shivering. Ichabod, lost in thought, did not see her heart broken look melt into a mask of jealousy and rage. Ichabod was not surprised by the revelation.

He seemed to hear his mother's admonition to remember echo in the howling of the wind. He had to find out where the Horseman had gotten the pin, who had carved both he cardinal and the figure into the back. Katrina's low rhythmic voice drew him back to the present. She was speaking in a dangerous sing-song tones her words spilling over each other and running together.

Her azure eyes flashed with wounded pride and betrayal. It took him a moment to make sense of the incoherent sounds. "It's that monster, he's the one who has bespelled you. I did what I did out of love. He plans to take you straight to Hell with him. He plans to isolate you from the ones who care about you. He wants you for himself, for his own sick pleasure. I'll take care of that. I know how to stop him forever. It's so obvious. Why didn't you think of it before with all your big city education and science. There are people in town that respect my family and me enough to help me. There are those with a debt to pay to that demon. We'll dig up his damned bones and bury them in holy ground. Let's see him rise then. Let's see who you run to when your demon is burning in Hell where he should be."

Ichabod felt an icy hand close around his heart. He had no doubt at all that she would do just that or die trying. What if she was right? The Horseman had not been able to cross the Holy ground around the church in town. Fear paralyzed him for precious moments. Too late, he reached out to seize her. He managed to catch her elbow, but she wrenched away and swung up onto her white mare. Without another word, she raced back in the direction of the village leaving him alone in the cold rain. Ichabod fell back to his knees in the icy mud fighting panic and tears that threatened to suffocate him in their battle for control of his throat and lungs. He had truly and unequivocally ruined everything now.

He had to warn the Hessian quickly and find some way to stop Katrina. He would not blame the Horseman for parting his head from his shoulders after his stupidity had created such peril. He did not want to see Katrina killed nor did he desire to lose his dark lover to a scorned woman's jealousy,or the fires of Hell, not when he had only just found him. Tears spilled from his eyes and ran down the sculpted planes of his cheeks to mingle with the icy rain. His stomach was a fiery knot. He had to control himself. He had to do something now. The sound of hoof beats behind him froze him in place. She could not be allowed to see how much her threats affected him. He had to convince her somehow that she was wrong. Even if it meant leaving him forever and returning to the lie and the endless, sleepless nights. Better he suffer than be the cause of eternal torment for the one being he had ever loved.

That thought shook him to the core. He did love the Hessian. The revelation gave him the strength to gather himself and school his expression. He took a deep breath and prepared himself to face her. Before he turned his ears caught the creak of wet leather then the distinctive chiming of spurs.

"Christiaan," he whispered then rose to his feet and threw himself into the waiting arms of his lover.