Page 69 of Want Me, Take Me, Haunt Me, Make Me

“You reallyshouldgo to a hotel,” said Brandon, frowning at the house. He probably wouldn’t have approved of it even before the coating of blood, but Hazel admitted it wasn’t looking its best. “I…believe you, that you’re probably safe now, but you’ve been through a pretty traumatic night. This can’t be a great place to stay—you don’t have a whole window in your bedroom, for God’s sake.”

“I’m dealing with that.”

“You can’t sleep on the bathroom floor.”

“Most of last night says otherwise. You can drive out and bring me some plywood if you’re really concerned.” That wasn’t fair. Hazel saw Brandon’s hurt expression and pinched the bridge of her nose. “No, I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re concerned. It was great of you to come out at short notice. It’s just…I can’t be around people for a long time, like I said.”

“Even overnight? This, this vortex thing is that bad?” A vaguely nauseous look had replaced the hurt on his face. Hazel recognized it instantly as deep unease—she’d seen it a lot during their relationship. He pronouncedvortexlike just saying the word might activate it.

She nodded. “I don’t know that itwouldgo off.” Unless the demon had found a new and major source of power, the conduit probably wouldn’t actually get any worse, but Hazel didn’t mention that. Brandon would grasp it like a crab with a stick, and it would take an hour to convince him thatprobablyleft too much room for doubt. “But the consequences are too bad if it does. I’m not going to put anybody else in danger.”

Brandon had become familiar with a few of Hazel’s qualities, too, in particular the tone that said she’d made up her mind. “Then maybe I should stay with you. I can sleep in the front room.”

“Yes, when I said I wasn’t going to put anybody else in danger, I definitely meant ‘except people I care about.’” Hazel rolled her eyes. “Really. It’s sweet of you to offer, I really do appreciate it, but first of all, you have a wedding in four months, and second, it would look awful for my lawyer to sleep in my house. It’s bad enough that we used to be married.”

Third, she didn’t say, because shedidlike Brandon, and he had done her a major favor,you’ll just be more collateral damage if the etherealdoescause trouble.

He stared at her for what felt like a while, clearly wanting to argue, just as clearly not finding a path. “Okay,” he said finally. “You know this world. I just…”

“I know,” she said, with years of silent understanding behind it. “And it means a lot.”

“I’ll go and get the plywood for you. At least that might keep the mosquitoes out.”

“You’re an angel,” said Hazel, and meant it.

They hugged, cautious of more than her bruises; it was the light, measured embrace of people who’d once been in love and dreaded bringing back any part of the past or, worse, making each other think they wanted to. “I’ll be back in an hour, no more,” said Brandon, heading to his rented car. “I’ll pick up some groceries.”

“And bleach, please,” said Hazel. She still had some, but was pretty sure it wasn’t nearly enough to get the job done.

She stood on the bloody porch and watched him drive away, which felt almost like watching Ligat or Bramble vanish back into the ethereal. Brandon felt more like a ghost than either of them, too, for all that Hazel appreciated his help. Time could be a bigger gulf than the border between worlds.

Chapter 37

Ligat wasn’t a jealous man. He’d taken a fairly modern view of romance in life—occult circles exposed one to a number of unorthodox perspectives—and although the subject hadn’t arisen since he’d entered Perthrux’s service, he didn’t see any reason to change those opinions. If Hazelwashaving it off with her lawyer, she had every right to do so. It might be bad legal practice on his part, but Ligat wasn’t a magistrate, and it certainly wasn’t his place to object on that or any other grounds.

As the police left, he went around to the side of the house, where Perthrux’s minion had torn up earth and knocked down small trees. That merited a better look, it gave Hazel and the other man what privacy Ligat could manage, and it meant he didn’t have to watch them. He was old enough to admit that last.

Uprooted plants lay dead or dying across churned dirt beside Hazel’s bedroom, and a jagged hole had replaced the window. Ligat wondered at first if Hazel or the police had picked up all the glass, since he didn’t see any, then realized that it would have all landed on the floor inside. The monster would have burst in. He could picture it clearly.

The thing failed, he told the iron weight in his stomach. Hazel was—well,finewas probably stretching a point after such an attack, but she was alive and apparently had no severe injuries.

Getting upset under those circumstances, so long after the fact, was the height of absurdity.

Very good advice did very little good.

Ligat wanted to go and find her, to hear her voice and see her look up at him with that deliberate, clear-eyed regard he’d become almost used to but thought could never grow ordinary, to put his arms around her and feel her breath and the warmth of her skin. He wanted to ask about the night before if she wanted to talk and to sit and pet her absurd dog together if she didn’t.

The lawyer partly prevented him from doing so, but only partly. Whatever Ligat wanted, he was still Perthrux’s servant, the right hand of the demon who’d sent the monster after Hazel. If she had decided to trust him as far as a few conversations and her metaphorical bed, that didn’t mean she’d welcome his comfort or even his company.

Ligat couldn’t even say she was missing out on either. What did he have to offer? An alien perspective, an understanding of her world that was patchy at best, and the constant reminder of her enemy and her fate. The lawyer could talk to her about normal subjects, defend her against everyday threats, perhaps spend the night without the danger of being yanked away by her enemy.

Jealousy hadn’t yet become a significant part of his nature. Envy, on the other hand, had started to make a very strong showing.

* * *

Plywood over the broken window helped, even though it gave Hazel’s bedroom the vibe of a starving artist’s loft in a nineties movie. Renewing the wards helped too. Three hours of sleep in a bed, with the midafternoon light seeping in around the plywood, was the most helpful of all. It didn’t set up a mystic shield or make the blood in the yard vanish, but Hazel woke up feeling much less like a cracked Christmas ornament.

Brandon had sent her an email during her nap, she discovered.The cops wouldn’t be investigating, but animal control would be coming out soon to see if they could find the bear in the woods, and was she absolutely sure she didn’t want to get a room at a hotel in town? She could probably do her ward things there. The local hotels had seen much worse.