"A demon of some sort, I imagine. Possibly in the service of the
"I know where it is", he says quietly, looking at the curtained windows, the stone slabs of the floor, the arch of a door to areas beyond - and then getting very interested in the table leg. "I lived here, once, but it was a far warmer place then."
"No, I think not", Ichabod assures her, looking up to follow her eyes.
"Scratches, bruises... what did you see?"
"It seems the most likely explanation."
He's on his feet too, moving into a mutually defensive position with Alex.
"And I've seen this house there, just as it is now. A torment for her."
"Pass me another of those fire irons", he says grimly. "I may as well
enjoy this encounter."
"...and again I say, she does not belong here." Ichabod approaches her,
decisively. "Who are you?"
"I know", he says over his shoulder, then looks back at the woman.
"That implies we intend to stay, which we certainly do not."
"I'm not", Ichabod says, glowering, then looks at the door. "The cellar.
We should go that way."
Ichabod follows, not taking his baleful gaze off the old woman for a moment.
"Of course." He strides down the stairs, ignoring the dust and the
darkness completely. "Few people know what I'm about to show you, not that
it matters now. Katrina and I built an escape route, should the war find
"We can only hope. At the very least, it should take us out of this house."
He's fumbling at the wall in a particular spot.
"What in the world... yes. Yes, immediately."
A door springs open when he hits the catch, and he grabs Alex's hand and
steers her towards it.