Page 121 of The Turning of the Tables

He snorted. “That little shit deserved it,” he remarked.

“You know he wasn’t actually as short as everybody thinks?”

“No?”

“Nope,” I told him. “The imperial measurement system changed its standards, so the original measurement of five-two is actually five-seven by our modern standards.”

“Still shorter than me,” was Elliot’s response.

“But average height for his time,” I pointed out.

“What’s average now?” he asked.

“In the US? About five-nine-and-a-half. Depends on where you are, though. Countries with better overall diet and health tend to be taller.”

“So we’re on the short side?” I could hear the irony in his tone.

“We’re around Brazil and China,” I replied. “Scandinavian and Germanic countries are taller.”

“Stupid Germans,” Elliot replied. “Although apparently Val’s family wasn’t a shining example of that.”

“Hart’s like six-four,” I said.

“He is now,” came Elliot’s comment. “But that asshole was shorter than me.”

“Really? How short?”

“Five-nine.”

I blinked. “That had to have hurt,” I remarked.

“Absolutely,” Elliot agreed, understanding immediately what I meant. It was a good reminder to me that other shifters weren’t the only ones who understood what it was like to have your body taken away from you. Hart’s whole body had changed on him, too. “So where’s BTV’s lab?” he asked me, then.

“It’s mine,” I replied. “And it’s not a lab. It’s a couplepieces of equipment in a storage shed. There’s a lot I can’t do, even if I can test for arsenic.”

“You use it a lot?”

“Not really. Definitely not anymore.”

“Why not?”

I sighed, finishing collecting the glassware and instruments I’d used into a bin. I’d take them home and wash and sterilize them. My locker did not have a sink or a drain. “I don’t really have anything to test without working crime scenes,” I answered.

“You took evidence in there?” Elliot asked me.

“Not exactly,” I answered, picking up the box with one hand and my phone with the other. “Sometimes I would test theories that I could take back to the real lab. And every now and then Hart would bring me something when he worked at BTV.” As I talked, I hit the little switch beside the door, plunging the space into darkness, then walked the few feet to my car, the door closing and locking behind me. I set the phone on the top of the car to pull out my keys, then unlocked the door.

“So won’t BTV still ask you to do things?”

“Probably, from time to time. When they need me.”

“They don’t need you often?”

“Nah. I came to them with something—a bone, a blood-stain, even a lost object—far more often than they ever came to me.” I let out a breath as I got into the Cruiser. “But that’s not gong to happen anymore. Or, rather, I’m sure Maza or Maginot will still bring them evidence, but it won’t be me doing it.”

“You didn’t test those things?”

“No need,” I replied. “Ward can just summon whoever it was and talk to them. Or Rayn can tell them about the object, if it’s not blood or bone or a body part. They don’treally need me.” I swallowed back the break in my voice, blinking moisture out of my eyes. I didn’t want to get emotional. One, Elliot had dealt with enough of my emotional shit, especially for someone who wasn’t in a relationship with me. Two, crying while driving is dangerous, and you really shouldn’t do it.