Page 87 of Want Me, Take Me, Haunt Me, Make Me

So was satisfaction. “You won’t know if it does or not,” she told the jar.

The pair of ghosts hovered nearby when she lifted her head. “Thank you,” she told them. “Thatreallyhelped.”

“My pleasure.” Jerold smirked, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his jeans. “Really.”

“I’ve been waiting awhile,” Pamela agreed, brushing her hair back into place. She’d gone back to looking like somebody who’d make brownies for the historical society, not somebody who’d just had vital organs between her fingernails, but Hazel would have a hard time shaking the latter image.

Just another one for the scrapbook, and there’s no therapist who’d believe me.

Professionalism kicked in. “Will the two of you be okay for a while?”

“Yeah,” said Jerold. “It’ll be…good to look around a little bit. How about you?”

“I’m all right to get home. I can figure out my next step from there.” Hazel set the jar down carefully, dipped her fingers into the water, and started drawing the figure that would separate the ethereal and physical worlds again. It was a chore to go slowly, just as she knew it would be to pack up her supplies and get back to the car.

If she never saw Chapman’s property again, that would be just fine with her.

* * *

Maxwell sat on the porch and watched Hazel drive up.

If the day’s events had a bright spot, it was that he no longer had to worry about how much time he spent in Hazel’s house. He’d tried to keep taking notes for her, been unable to concentrate, then picked up a paperback mystery. Halfway through, he’d forgotten who’d been murdered.

After that, he just stared off across the yard. The vial of poison, for that was really its nature, lay heavily in the pocket of his robe. Allof his thoughts sank down to join it. Maxwell had taken it out a few times, stared at the liquid as though it held a solution, then tucked it away again. It still danced before his eyes.

Seeing the car turn in to the driveway, he felt as he imagined men did when approaching the gallows, mingling terror and relief in almost equal parts. What came next would be terrible, but the waiting would be over. As Hazel parked, he stood up and went down to greet her.

She got out slowly, bracing herself on the seat, and the face she turned to Maxwell was pale and drawn. Her smile was wide, though—wide and triumphant.

“Hail the conquering hero,” she said, coming toward him. “Or at least get the conquering hero a plate of nachos and a long bath.”

Unable to stop himself, Maxwell took her in his arms for what might be the last time. Hazel made a surprised, questioning sound, but she barely hesitated before slumping against his chest, wrapping her own arms around him and holding tight. “God, that’s nice. I didn’t realize how much I appreciated body heat. Not that it’s your only good quality.”

He forced a chuckle. He suspected he didn’t do it very well, because Hazel drew back, tilting her head up to search his expression. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Nothing, Maxwell wanted to say, orI was worried about you, that’s all. If it meant holding her a moment longer, it was an appealing prospect.

“Bad news, I fear,” he said, and stepped back. He spoke quickly in case his courage failed him. “My master knows we’ve been talking. It’s taken steps. More precisely, it’s orderedmeto take steps.”

Hazel darted a glance at the house, visibly measuring the distance. It stung—really, it hit him like a kick in the belly—and Maxwell was glad to see it.

He held up his hands. “I don’t have to attack you, not yet. It thinks our friendship is an opening.”

Even weary, his medium was sharp. “Poison?”

“More or less. It’ll speed up your”—Maxwell made himself say it bluntly—“disintegration and the opening of the worlds.”

Hazel closed her eyes and bent her head, pressing finger and thumb against the bridge of her nose. Whatever she’d done had drained her strength both physically and mentally, Maxwell knew, and now she was keeping herself together with the same will that had let her face Perthrux for far longer than the demon had anticipated. He wanted to put his arms around her again, or to cry out in anger at the injustice of her situation, and he knew that neither would help.

“Your boss didn’t just say you have to stick the stuff in my lunch, did it?” she finally asked, and Maxwell could tell she was keeping herself from hoping for an easy answer.

He hated that he couldn’t give her one. “It didn’t make the order very detailed,” Maxwell said, “but if you don’t drink the elixir in three days, it’ll…take an interest. That might mean another attack like you faced earlier or giving me more precise directions. It trusts me less than it once did.”

“Three days.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “If I’d kept my distance, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“I didn’t exactly thrust a crucifix at you and screamavaunt, did I?” Hazel straightened up and met his eyes again. Hers held none of the hatred Maxwell had feared and, astonishingly, none of the despair he’d dreaded. “I’m guessing the demon will know if you lie. And since the poison just makes my condition worse, a nonlethal dose might be out of the question.”