Page 91 of Want Me, Take Me, Haunt Me, Make Me

“Hi, Jess. It’s Hazel.”

“Hi,” said Jess. They’d answered the phone a little hesitantly, as just about everybody under fifty did when they weren’t expecting a call, and they sounded even more serious after Hazel spoke. “What’s going on?”

Hazel stared hard at the opposite wall. “I’m going to sound crazy.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Wha—”

Scripts helped with tough conversations, so Hazel had written one in her head before calling Jess. It was already breaking down.

“You won’t. You don’t sound like you’re trying to sell me crystals to make my breasts grow, you don’t sound like you’re having either a panic attack or a psychotic break, and if you had some sort of conspiracy about aliens and pizza places, you’d post it on the internet, not call me.” Hazel could almost see them ticking off points on their fingers. “Is this about you being a medium? Because I looked you up. You have a decent website, though your security certificate could be better.”

“Um. Yes, sort of.”

“Is the bear or the photographer haunting your house?”

“No, not that, not really.” Hazel swallowed. “There’s kind of a crisis out here. I’m going to try and fix it, and I think I have a decent chance of succeeding, but if I don’t…”

Jess sucked air in through their teeth. “How bad are we talking?”

“Very bad. For everyone. Think the really big kind of tornado.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“Yeah. The more people who spend the next day or two out of town, the better. And if I don’t call you by ten in the morning tomorrow—” She looked out the window, across the yard, where Maxwell was finishing up his part of the preparation, and out to the road. How far was the next house? How fast did demons move? “Run. As far and fast as you can. If you can’t, find a basement and board up thewindows. Use salt and holy water. I don’t know how much they’ll help, but they might buy you some time.”

“You’re not serious,” said Jess, but they didn’t sound skeptical. They sounded like they were begging.

“I’m afraid so.”

Chapter 48

It was potentially her last night on earth, and Hazel wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

During the day, she’d been able to occupy herself—not distract herself, not when just about every action she took was part of preparing for her weird desperate plan, but keep herself busy enough to stuff her feelings back behind a wall of work. Maxwell had spent most of his time in the yard, too, so she mostly hadn’t had to try to talk.

All at once she had nothing left to do. She’d finished her advance work; the rest had to wait until the next day, just before the plan went into motion. Saying goodbye to Tiffany, Martine, or Brandon would just make them worry, they already knew how she felt about them, and she had no interest in final words with her parents.

Hazel ordered the most expensive delivery she could, changed into her favorite sundress, and wandered barefoot onto the porch. The sun had just set, and the air was silky, redolent with the smell of earth and plants.

Maxwell turned from where he’d been finishing up his preparations. “Good evening,” he said, his gaze running over her in a flatteringly appreciative way. “I suddenly feel underdressed.”

“Your normal outfits are just as classy,” said Hazel, “but I won’t complain if you want to put on a tuxedo.”

“I’d have to go back to the ethereal to change, I fear.”

“Not worth it, then.” She rested her elbows on the railing, propped her chin in her hands, and stared off into the purple twilight. “You’d think there’d be more procedure when you know you might die tomorrow, wouldn’t you? More ritual? Considering human history—surgery and war and childbirth, though I suppose you couldn’t predict that last one.”

“Not entirely.” Having put his tools carefully aside, Maxwell came up the stairs to stand by her side. He knew enough not to ask if she was all right.

“There are last rites, of course, but that’s closer to the deadline, so to speak.”

“Mm.” He put an arm around her waist, his hand warm through the thin cotton of her dress. “The Romans would sacrifice rams, I believe. Uncle Charles said that they usually played poker in the trenches.”

“I’ve never been very good at cards.”

“Nor do we have any livestock.”