cried Harry, alarmed and angry at the same time. Several moments more of threat, Max’s gray-blue eyes unblinking as he looked at Harry. “Hey!” said Harry again, thoroughly intimidated. Max stared at him. Then, turning, he hurled the dagger at the lobby display. Harry (and I, it felt like) jolted as the blade pierced the figure of The Great Delacorte. “How appropriate,” Max observed. “Right through the heart.” A rumble of distant thunder made Harry shudder—as though the gods had just declared their displeasure. Max and Harry stared at one another. Finally, Harry found his (labored) voice. “You’re crazy, Max,” he said. “You know that?” “There is that possibility,” Max answered calmly. “Madness is afoot in this house. Don’t you feel it?” I saw that his smile was unnerving to Harry. “The very air tingles with it.” He was right; it did. Max turned abruptly for the fireplace. “And now,” he said, “sit down.” “Max, I have to go,” said Harry. His tone was not aggressive anymore, but mollifying.
