Page 73 of Want Me, Take Me, Haunt Me, Make Me

“Your motive was better than most,” said Hazel. “For what that’s worth.”

They watched each other: not quite comfortable, not quite wary, two people sitting in an empty room with a card table between them. “I shouldn’t have stayed to chat,” Maxwell said. “Not when I was lying to you. It wasn’t fair.”

“Yeah. Well.” Hazel leaned back. Her chair wobbled a bit but remained standing. “Of all the unfair things that have happened to me, that’s pretty low on the list.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“Apology accepted. You can redeem yourself by telling me why the dryad didn’t raise any alarm when you stepped into the yard. They’resupposedto grab any ethereal creatures unless I’m with them—and you were talking to me the first time we met, but not when you came by with the wine.”

“Easy enough. This form is physical.”

“Entirely?”

“I’d imagine it has traces of the ethereal, and of the transformation, but they’d be minute. To be vulgar, flesh makes excellent camouflage.”

“Oh, Lord, you’re like the ghost Terminator.” When Maxwell blinked at her, Hazel waved a hand. “Never mind. I’ll show you the movie one of these days.”

It was an offhand comment, the sort that didn’t acquire any greater meaning until both of them had a chance to realize what she’d offered and to whom. At that point, it just hung in the air like a badly made wind chime, awkward and impossible to ignore.

He tried anyway, moving on swiftly to more facts. “I can’t stay like this for more than an hour or two, so it’s less convenient than I’d like, but it seemed the best way to intervene—though now that I think about it, a dark and sinister figure menacing him might have done that chap a world of good.”

Hazel laughed, but almost immediately cut herself off. “I shouldn’t make fun. He’s dead—”

“So I noticed.”

“I should probably feel worse about that.”

“Not the way I see it,” said Maxwell. “Oh, I know, no man is an island and so on, but that philosophy doesn’t wear very well after fifty years or so on the other side. I’m just glad he was around to distract the creature. That might have saved your life—though I wouldn’t let Gordon know it.”

“You’ve met him, then?” Hazel asked, her forehead smoothing out as she abandoned her attempt at self-flagellation.

Maxwell grimaced. “I’ve had the displeasure, yes. I’m afraid I was doing my lurking act earlier, while the police talked to you and your lawyer.” He did his best to keep the last word neutral. What more the man might or might not be was none of his business. “I packed him off with a flea in his ear, though I can’t promise he’ll stay gone.”

“Getting rid of him for a couple hours makes you an angel, or atleast a saint.” Hazel set down her empty glass and rubbed her temples. She looked as tired as Maxwell had ever seen her, but the tension from earlier seemed to have ebbed away. “How angry is your master?”

“Inordinately,” said Maxwell, unable to suppress a smirk.

Her return smile made him think of coiled serpents. “Good.”

Chapter 39

Angry people made mistakes. Angry demons might not, but Hazel was taking any small victory she could manage. She’d survived the night, she’d angered the demon, and she’d gotten one of its more powerful minions a bit more on her side. Tactically, it wasn’t bad for an hour of terror and another ten of numbness and disgust.

It also meant she had said minion in her living room, eating pretzels in a way that somehow called attention to his forearms. Hazel hadn’t known that was possible.

The rest of her questions—and there were dozens—flitted around in her brain, just beyond her capacity to put into words. Three hours wasn’t nearly enough sleep, she was almost two decades away from handling all-nighters well, and while Maxwell’s presence had given her a burst of energy, it was fading fast.

When the specifics blurred, the basics became clear. “How are you, anyhow? I should have asked right away.”

Maxwell blinked. “Oh. No, that’s quite all right—I’m well enough, and you had every reason to assume that.”

“I don’t generally do very well with assumptions.”

“I promise I’ll tell you if I’m in agony,” he said, “or about to explode. Neither is the case. What about you?”

“Not about to explode. Not in agony.” Painkillers helped with the latter. The EMTs had diagnosed Hazel with some strained muscles,a number of small cuts, and a lot of bruising. None of her injuries merited a hospital visit or even the good drugs, but she’d been taking ibuprofen like she got paid for it.

Maxwell scrutinized her like he knew what she wasn’t saying. “Dead tired, though, if I’m any judge. And I’d bet that’s understating matters by half. I know what conditionI’dbe in if that creature had attacked me.”