Page 70 of Want Me, Take Me, Haunt Me, Make Me

Hazel had rested enough just to roll her eyes. She even managed a rueful grin as she sent back thanks and refusal.

Her bruises were darkening—she’d look like an overripe banana by the next morning, she was sure—and her muscles stiff and achy, but lying around wouldn’t make either go away. Besides, she wanted the damn blood off her porch, or as close to it as she could manage. She poured enough bleach into a bucket of soapy water that she suspected she’d take off a layer of wood, decided that cleanliness was worth it, and started on the side where Gordon’s leg had landed.

In theory, there were special services to clean up crime scenes. One of the police had given Hazel a card. In practice, the address on that card was about an hour away from her; the town didn’t really offer a huge market. That was fine. The last thing she wanted was more strangers hanging around, putting themselves at risk.

She dunked the mop in the bucket, wrung it out, and watched the water turn dull red. As she started to lift it out, she heard somebody in the yard clear their throat.

“Miss Lewis?”

Even though the voice was unmistakable, she spun around with the mop in front of her before the speaker got through his first syllable. A spray of red water landed just short of Maxwell Redfern’s shoes.

He looked from it to her, not at all shocked. That surprised Hazel at first; she knew he wasn’t normal, but her subconscious seemed slow to catch up. “Hi,” she said cautiously. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here again.”

Maxwell had the good manners to flush and look away. “I’d imagine not. I—” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I came to apologizeand to explain, but I can leave if I’ve come at a bad time. Or I can pitch in. I’d be glad to.”

“I won’t say no to the help,” she said. Accepting gifts from mysterious, possibly inhuman strangers was almost certainly a dubious idea, but none of Hazel’s training had ever warned her against getting them to mop the porch. “As you can see, it was an eventful night.”

“I heard a few rumors.”

Hazel raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Where did you hear those?”

“It wasn’t exactly quiet,” said Maxwell, shrugging off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. His outfit was even more incongruous in the bloodstained landscape than it had been when her yard had been normal. “I’m glad to see you’re in one piece.”

Hearing that shouldn’t have felt good, knowing what she did, but Hazel found herself smiling at Maxwell anyhow. “Thanks.” She handed him the mop and retreated to lean against her doorway, aware of all the space she was putting between them.

He got to work right away, though he was a little clumsy at first. The thickest patches of blood had started to vanish when he cleared his throat. “I didn’t—I did enjoy talking to you. And I did—Ido—find you very attractive. I should have tried to explain my situation earlier, but—”

“But you’re at least ninety years old, you haven’t apparently aged since your thirties, and you don’t live anywhere near here,” said Hazel. If she were wrong about the first two items, she would feel awkward, but it wouldn’t be the first time and it wouldn’t kill her. She really didn’t have time to beat around the bush.

Maxwell had stopped mopping when she’d called him on being ninety and had turned to meet her gaze, a little startled. Hazel would have expected much more consternation just from finding out what she knew. “Indeed,” he said, and stood there waiting.

The posture looked familiar. Hazel couldn’t place it just then, especially when she was trying to figure out where to go from there. If she’d had time to predict Maxwell’s reaction, it would have beeneither denial or a full confession, not calm and terse affirmation. He even sounded slightly different—almost hopeful, though Hazel couldn’t imagine why.

She decided on bluntness again. “Whatareyou?”

“A man,” he said. “One who made some damned bad decisions.”

“Involving the occult.”

His lips twitched. “What other sort would bring me to this time in this condition? Traditional science isn’t responsible, I assure you.”

“No, you don’t seem like a cyborg. Not that I’d know.” Hazel studied him, taking in the rumpled brown hair, the glasses, the slightly out-of-date clothing. None of it told her what she wanted to know, not even in context, but they all stirred something in her mind, some insight she couldn’t quite pin down yet. “Why did you come here? Why did you start talking to me?”

“I wanted to be helpful,” Maxwell said, “in the limited way I could manage.”

Hazel lifted her eyebrows again. “What, you’re my guardian angel?”

Maxwell’s laughter in response was the bleakest sound she’d ever heard from him. “I wish I were,” he said. “It would have been much simpler.”

“Simpler thanwhat?”

“I’m—” He stopped, and Hazel didn’t think it was entirely out of awkwardness. “I had to be here, and I saw you with Gordon. I didn’t want to let him bullyrag you. I really can’t explain further.”

I’m afraid I can’t tell you, Ligat said in her memory.

I made a bargain. It turned out to be unwiseechoed as well.A man, she heard Maxwell say a few moments ago.One who made some damned bad decisions.

Hazel kept staring at him, taking in the long, slim lines of his body, the grace with which he moved, the quirk of his smile. She remembered his kiss.