Page 22 of The Turning of the Tables

In the same way that identifying Jewish people in 1930s Germany was about supporting religious diversity and not at all about antisemitism.

6

ELLIOT CRANE

What is a Maymont and why have I agreed to go to it with 15 preteen shifters?

SETH MAYS

Maymont is a park that used to be some rich person’s estate.

It has a little zoo and some gardens and a house.

People go for walks there and kids like the animals.

I don’t know why you agreed to go there with a pack of kid shifters.

I suppose I could have agreed to something far worse.

You definitely could have.

At least tell me there’s ice cream or some shit there.

Sometimes there’s afood truck…

Kill me.

I’d laughed,then gotten into my Cruiser to head to Beyond the Veil in order to ask Ward for a favor.

There wasn’t anywhere to pull up at the front of the BTV offices, so I went around back, scooted in to grab the parking pass and put it in my Cruiser, then made my way down the hall toward the reception area, since I considered it polite to check in with Rayn instead of just accosting Ward in his office.

“Seth!”

I jumped a little, surprised to hear Elliot’s rough voice. I wasn’t exactly surprised he washere, since he was building the table for Ward and Mason, and it wasn’t like I hadn’t just spent the last three days thinking about the feeling of Elliot’s hands on my skin… But somehow I was still startled when he called my name.

“Hey,” I managed, turning to find him coming out of the kitchen, a mug of coffee in his hands. He was wearing just a t-shirt this time—no flannel—in a peach color that looked far more masculine on him than it would have on my pasty skin. It showed off the tattoo on his left arm, and it hugged both his biceps and his upper chest in a way that felt scandalous—although it probably wasn’t if you weren’t picturing him without the t-shirt and imagining yourself licking your way across that expanse of dusky skin.

I swallowed and tried to think unsexy thoughts to get control of what was happening in my slacks.

“If I’d known you were coming here, I would have just asked you about Maymont in person,” Elliot said, as though being in close proximity to me did nothing to him. Maybe it didn’t, although that thought was deeply disappointing.

Rule Two, I reminded myself. At least I didn’t have toworry about my expression looking too weird, since I had a mask covering the lower half of my face. Elliot wasn’t wearing one, but he was a shifter, so it wasn’t really necessary. Noah often wore one in public just to avoid the stares and comments, but BTV wasn’t exactly public, so Elliot was safe enough from either looks or rudeness.

He had worn one, I remembered, to the hardware store, so he did wear them sometimes, probably for the same reasons Noah did.

“I’m here on a mission,” I explained, holding up a small paper bag. I always put evidence baggies in paper bags when the baggie contains human or Arcanid remains. It’s a little more respectful that way—at least you’re not running around flaunting people’s parts without their knowledge or consent. Even if they are dead, it’s just not polite.

“Lunch?” Elliot asked, eying the paper bag, a frown on his forehead.

“No, evidence,” I replied. “I need Ward to touch it.”

“Touch what?” another voice asked, this one a higher tenor and already sounding suspicious. I didn’t blame him.

I turned back the other way, finding the warlock-medium in question having rolled himself into the hallway. He was also wearing a mask—black, with little stars on it—as well as a black button-down and dark grey slacks. Ward usually wears black. It goes with his black curly hair and sets off his light grey eyes. And I think he does it to make grieving relatives feel a little more comfortable. Black is a mourning color, and most of his clients are here because of dead loved ones.

I held up the bag again.

“And who is that?” he asked, sounding a little tired.