Page 90 of Want Me, Take Me, Haunt Me, Make Me

“If I had a brain, I’d make a dirty joke about that.” She dragged herself to her feet.

Maxwell rose, feeling himself back in limbo now that another moment of decision had come.You have every right to change your feelings, he’d told Hazel before. That was still true now—especially now—and asking if shehadchanged them felt too much like an imposition, as obvious as it must be that he wanted a particular answer.

He was searching for the words that would weight the scale the least when Hazel came around to his side of the table. “I can’t offer anything but sleep until I’ve had about ten hours,” she said, “and my bed hasn’t improved, but if you want to squeeze in…I’d like that. More than the extra space.”

Maxwell turned toward her, took her face between his hands, and kissed her. “I couldn’t wish for more.”

Chapter 47

“Wow,” said Summer. Hazel, sitting a hundred miles away from him, on a phone in her well-warded bedroom, could see his expression. He’d be still, staring, like when she’d first told him about the fight and her problems afterward.

He probably wouldn’t be working out a plan this time, not from the flat, stunned sound of that single word. “That seems to cover it,” said Hazel. She ran her hand over the plush fabric of the blanket beneath her, stroking it flat and then disarranging it again. “How stupid does it sound?”

“Given the circumstances,” he said, and sighed, “not very. Much as I want to say otherwise. But you’re not playing my instruments here, Hazelnut, you know that.”

“I do.” The physical world was Summer’s area of expertise, his knowledge of the ethereal fairly well limited to incursions. He had no secret knowledge for her.

“Do you still have that charm I gave you?”

“Always.” Hazel lifted the cord around her neck, then let it fall back against her skin.

“It might be able to help. Maybe you can work out how to make it stronger, or broader, or—one of those silver cords, maybe. I know the ethereal’s not the place for those, but hell, couldn’t hurt. Otherwise…I’ll wait for the call?”

“Yeah. If you don’t hear from me by…let’s say ten a.m.…then you have a situation. Capital S.”

She wasn’t completely sure what he would do about a capital-S Situation. Demons had invaded before, but not since at least the Old West, when they’d created a ghost town or five before being driven back. Rumors varied about who’d banished them. Rumorsalsosaid that there were people out there devoted to fighting the things. Hazel had always put that down to wishful thinking.

Between her contacts and Summer’s, she hoped somebody would know something. She probably wouldn’t be in a position to help much in that case.

“Hazelnut?”

“Mm?” She flexed her hands, sore and cut in a few places. Inscribing runes was hard work, particularly on surfaces not meant for inscription.

Summer’s voice was choked. “I’m sorry. This is a hell of a thing to happen to you, you don’t deserve it, and I wish you’d drawn a different hand.” He cleared his throat. “I hope you come back, but in case you don’t, I wanted you to know that.”

Nowherthroat had a lump in it. “Thank you,” Hazel got out around it. She closed her eyes and let the tears trickle out of them, hot against her cheeks. Weird—she’d almost resigned herself to her possible death, but she hadn’t prepared for goodbyes. “Say hi to your snakes for me. And the rest of the wildlife.”

“We’re cheering you on. All of us.”

* * *

The dryad came out to watch Maxwell. A creature made entirely of plants, with no eyes or mouth to speak of, shouldn’t have been able to look suspicious. This one managed.

“I suppose it would do no good to tell you my intentions are honorable,” he said. Picking up a long branch carved with runes, hebegan to draw symbols on the ground. “I’m avoiding as many plants as possible, by the way. And Hazel promises she’ll replant any that we damage.”

That didn’t make it appear any less doubtful about him, but at least it didn’t attack. It simply stood and watched, like some parody of a Milton poem, as Maxwell finished the first symbol and started filling it with small blue stones. They stood out starkly against the earth, clearly not natural—people apparently bought them for aquariums these days—but they defined and held the shapes, and thus would serve.

Maxwell checked the sigil against the pattern he’d written down, then started an identical shape three feet to the right, darting a quick glance over his shoulder at the house on the way. He knew Hazel would be calling her allies inside, preparing them as much as she could for the worst case. She hadn’t mentioned any other tasks, but Maxwell was certain she was carrying them out. Two packages had arrived that morning—one had held the aquarium stones, and Hazel hadn’t let him see the other.

“Sorry,” she said, only partly meaning it.

“Don’t be,” Maxwell had replied, utterly sincere. He couldn’t guess what was in the package—he doubted anyone could send explosives, weapons, or living beings through the mail, and it had been the wrong shape for a book—or what she was planning, and he was glad of it.

Every bit of information she hid reassured him.

He’d always admired independent women, partly because various stuffy elders had disapproved of it when he’d been young and partly because he’d had too many responsibilities as it was. Occasionally he’d said, in the way of young men with aspirations toward rakishness, that depending on him would be a horrible idea. He’d never really thought to mean it seriously.

* * *