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.”
Hazel breathed in his scent, warm human combined with a hint of ozone, letting it settle in her senses as she took in the sight of the woods. The sky darkened as they stood there, and a star came out just above the treetops. “Everything I’d wish for seems like too much to ask,” she said.
“Not if you’re doing most of the work, I’d say. Though I’m hardly in charge of these affairs.”
She half turned to face him, studying how his eyes reflected the starlight. “I will if you will.”
“Of course.”
“Star light, star bright…” they began. The old rhyme should have sounded silly, but Hazel couldn’t dredge up any embarrassment. It seemed such a small emotion for the moment.
I wish—She hesitated, stupidly afraid to sound presumptuous to her own head, or the universe, or whatever else might be listening.
What the hell, she thought, go big or go home.
I wish for us to both get out alive tomorrow.
Or as alive as Maxwell is. I wish that I can do what I have to do and save us all.
* * *
The food was unfamiliar, but good, and Maxwell suspected that neither he nor Hazel did it any sort of justice. He tried nonetheless; if it was hard to appreciate a last meal, it was all the more important to do it. Memories would have to sustain him where he was likely to go the next day.
Hazel had given him a trove of them, of course.
She sat across from him in white flowered cotton that left most of her limbs bare and very few illusions about her figure, wielding chopsticks with impressive proficiency, and almost shone against the backdrop of her gutted living room.
Maxwell watched her and tried to burn every detail into his mind. It took surprisingly little effort.
“Your dryad is almost used to my presence, I think,” he said. “Begrudgingly so.”
He won a smile. “I’m glad it hasn’t decided you have tasty blood. Or that it’s willing to restrain itself if it has.”
“Should I feel insulted, I wonder, that I’m not appetizing?”
“Not appetizing to that particular dryad. Maybe they have different tastes.” She finished her egg roll and wiped her hands neatly on a napkin. “Not that I’m dying to sample your blood, I should note. No offense.”
“None taken. I’ve never suspected that you were a vampire.”
“My secret’s safe, then.” The joke sounded halfway between genuine and forced.
Maxwell set his own pair down on his empty plate. “Hazel—”
“Sorry. I just—” She laughed helplessly, shaking her head.
“It’s like waiting at a bus station with somebody, you know?
You say your goodbyes, you make sure you’ve covered everything important, and then you still have fifteen minutes until the damn bus arrives, and…
what do you do? Talking about the Steelers would be ridiculous. ”
“Especially since I have no idea who they are,” he said, and stood up. Two steps brought him around the table.
She craned her head back to see him as he put his hands on her shoulders. “You’re taking this a lot better than I am.”
“I’m not entirely human any longer, dear heart.” Maxwell traced circles on her skin with his thumbs. “I cut off parts of myself long ago—though not as thoroughly as I’d thought until we met.”
Emotions tangled on Hazel’s face as she sat speechless. “I’m sorry you had to,” she finally said, “and glad if it’s some help now. And very flattered.” Reaching back, she covered one of his hands with hers.
“Thank you,” said Maxwell, meaning it to cover all three counts and more.
“I should check the wards one more time before bed. Will you come with me?” Her hand lay warm and smooth on top of his. With her head tilted back, Maxwell could clearly see the hollows of her neck and the fine bones of her shoulders; he also saw the fading bruises and scrapes on her arms.
“Anywhere.”
* * *
They finished up on the porch again. Darkness had fallen while they ate and deepened as Hazel made sure her protections held.
Now the night was full of stars, scattered like rhinestones across the sky in the sort of view only the country allowed.
Hazel found a certain comfort in them: The world was larger and went back longer than she knew. Not all would be lost, no matter what.
She hoped she was right.
“At least it’s a beautiful night,” she said, as the warm wind ruffled her hair. “I wouldn’t presume to ask for that, but rain would have seemed like salt in the wounds.”
Maxwell laughed softly. His mortal form had faded over the course of their dinner, and now starlight gleamed on his skin. “I’ve always liked a summer thunderstorm. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
“No. You don’t do that much,” said Hazel, reaching out to stroke his cheek.
“Stiff upper lip, darling. A few qualities persist beyond the veil.” Maxwell settled a hand on her waist. “My school would be proud.”
Hazel suspected that wasn’t the whole truth. A hundred years without a sympathetic ear—with God knew what punishments for any sort of objection, probably—could easily make somebody lose the habit. What good would it be, after all?
“Melancholy?” Maxwell asked. “Other than for the obvious reasons, that is?”
“Appreciating you, mostly.”
“I can think of no better reason for a brown study,” he joked, and then his gaze turned speculative. The hand at her waist shifted, stroking up her spine. A tingling warmth followed. “Although—”
Hazel lifted her eyebrows. “Although?”
“I wouldn’t at all mind being a, ah, ‘coping strategy,’ if that would interest you. Quite all right if it doesn’t, of course.” Even teasing, he hesitated, watching her response.
“Yes,” she said, closing the distance between them. Her breasts brushed against the soft fabric of his robe, and desire began to unwind within her. “And no.”
Maxwell ran his fingers gently up her spine. “You’ve confused me, I fear.”
“Yes, I want you.” Hazel leaned up and kissed him, a quick, sweet touch of lips, then pulled back to meet his gaze. “But if you ever were a coping strategy, you’re not anymore.”