Page 61 of Want Me, Take Me, Haunt Me, Make Me

He carried a barbed metal sigil in a concealed pocket of his robes. In theory, it would work wherever Ligat happened to be. After his interlude with Hazel, Ligat waited until he was in his lodgings once again, seated in the central room that had formed around him first. He preferred to be on what home ground he had.

The room wasn’t quite a pleasant place. Emotion and memory gave the ethereal its shape, and both had been painful when Ligat had arrived. He had enough willpower and enough time had passed that he could sit at a desk made of dark wood, not rusted iron, but the bookcases remained scorched black, the walls oppressively gray. It somewhat resembled his old flat if he’d decided to set fire to the place.

Once he sat down, Ligat took the sigil from his pocket as quickly as possible and laid it on the desk, then carefully opened the handkerchiefs in which he’d wrapped it. The relic was cold even through the fabric. Unwrapped, it chilled his hand when it was inches above the metal.

It stuck to Ligat’s skin as soon as he touched it. As a boy, he’d heard of children who’d frozen their tongues to lampposts and he’d read about Antarctic explorers having to use gloves to eat with knives, but he’d never imagined such a painful or solid connection. He’d screamed aloud the first time he’d had to contact Perthrux. He’d learned since then to grit his teeth and endure—in many situations.

Cold pulled at his hand, tugging his skin with a million tiny hooks. It worked its way up his arm a centimeter at a time, and his flesh turned numb but never too numb to hurt, as Ligat forced himself to hold still. Once he started the process, pulling away was disastrous.

He tried to keep the right mental state too: calm enough to get through the torment but not so calm that Perthrux thought he’d gotten too accustomed to it, caring about the events around Hazel’s house only in how they served Perthrux and thus reflected on him.The woman means nothing. She’s a tool. Chapman is inconvenient. Her visitor is inconvenient. That’s all. No more.

The room around him wasn’t all ethereal. On some of his errands or explorations, he picked up souvenirs—a crystal iris with a real scent, an incense bowl shaped like a coiled snake, a few books, ranging from vaguely informative texts to utter potboilers. He never brought back any objects he really liked, or the loss of which would cause more than a moment’s disappointment. He’d learned that too.

When the cold had almost reached his elbow, the air before him flexed, and a transparent image of Perthrux appeared, toying idly with one of the ornaments from its throne. “Important matters?”

“I would hardly bother you with less, my lord,” said Ligat, and inclined his head.

“Continue.” Its fleshy fingers tugged at the remnants of hair.

Ligat thoughtthis is annoying, that’s allat himself one final time, then said, “A man’s been skulking around the medium’s house. Haven’t caught a glimpse of him yet, but I’ve seen footprints. He’s tried the windows too. I know it’s the devil of a coincidence—”

“Likely not,” said Perthrux, primary mouth puckering with the demon’s displeasure. “Wounds bring out jackals, even if they don’t know what they’re following.”

That made sense, though Ligat had never thought of it before. Life and death brought the worlds closer, as did the extremes of pain and pleasure, so why shouldn’t the conjunctions call to people who built their lives around such affairs? “He could be a danger, then?” he asked, careful to make it a question rather than sound as though he was presuming to advise the demon.

“He could be an inconvenience. And he’s trespassing.” Perthrux hissed, a thicker and wetter noise than a human could have made.

Dangerhad been a mistake, Ligat realized. He wasn’t sure the demon even really understood the word. Its kind could be hurt, as Hazel had most recently demonstrated, but death or destruction didn’t really seem possible, not the same way they were for other creatures. He switched tactics. “Maybe someone should teach him better manners.”

“Someone should,” Perthrux agreed. It shifted the attenuated meat that made up its body, leaning back against its seat. “But we’ll have time for that.”

Ligat’s heart sank. He tried a slightly bolder approach, still striving to sound like it didn’t matter. “I could spend more time on guard, of course. If that would help.”

The demon’s eyes glinted with the dull shine of drowned worms on pavement. “You could linger in the mortal world, you mean,” it said, freezing Ligat with dread before it chuckled, contemptuous but not angry. “No, I won’t waste you on nostalgia. The ghoul can always step in if the gateway dies.”

“I caught Chapman’s trail near the house. He might be going behind your back—unless you sent him, of course,” said Ligat, spotting another opening.

“No,” said Perthrux, and its talons pierced deep into the lump of flesh it had been toying with. The sharp squeak it made might havebeen escaping air. “The upstart thinks he’sclever. We may have to have words with him.”

“Perhaps more than words, my lord. If we guard the medium, we get rid of the risk, and we can deal with Chapman permanently.”

Perthrux leaned forward, its headless face filling Ligat’s view. The lipless mouth smirked. “You don’t like him, do you, bondsman?”

“I don’t see how anybody could, my lord,” said Ligat. He didn’t have to preparethatanswer.

Tendons stretched as the demon’s smile grew wider. “He has his uses. For now. Just like you do.”

Ligat bowed his head. “Understood, my lord. If you believe that he’s loyal—”

“I trust his loyalty,” said Perthrux, “just as much as I do yours.”

* * *

Hi, Hazel.

It’s Jess from the library.

I’m not really sure how to start this—maybe you’ll tell me to mind my own fucking business, and I probably would deserve it if you did. But you were telling me about that guy the other day, the Brit who gave you a fake name and address?