Page 61 of The Turning of the Tables

She’d been encouraging—suggesting that plenty of people had long-distance relationships that could work. It was sweet.

I’d also not mentioned any of Elliot’s Rules—especially not Rule Two. Because that pretty much killed the whole possibility of anything more happening between us. Except for the fact that he kept talking to me, texting me, and so on. If he really didn’t want anything to do with me, withus, would he keep doing that? Was he humoring me? If so, why?

But it wasn’t like Quincy would have been able to answer any of those questions, even if I hadn’t been too humiliated to bring it up.

18

ELLIOT CRANE

How’s your friend?

SETH MAYS

She’s getting better, but still sick.

Thanks for asking.

At work though, gotta go.

I was on edge,and not only because Quincy wasn’t here with me. I’m not a big people-person—I can get along with people just fine in general, but I don’t like getting close to them. I’m close to Noah. Close-ish to Quincy. Close-ish-ish with Hart and Ward and Mason. Who the fuck knows what with Elliot.

I could get along, therefore, with Dara Aimes, the CSI tech who was subbing for Quincy. Aimes was competent enough—I had no complaints about her work or her work ethic. She just wasn’t Quincy. We didn’t have an easy rapport, and I couldn’t trust her to just do the things thatQuincy did automatically. Because Aimes usually worked with Eddie Young, and she and I didn’t have a set routine.

Until Quincy came back—which she was absolutely going to do—I was playing a round-robin game with the rest of the techs. It put me on edge, because I was constantly having to adjust and readjust to someone new. Even if they were all perfectly fine people, they each worked a little differently, so I felt perpetually off-balance.

Yesterday, I’d brought over pizza for both Quincy and Aaron, and I’d met him for the first time. Not really my type, but attractive enough, I guess. Dark hair, olive skin, brown eyes. Taller than Quincy by a handful of inches, but shy of my six-three. He’d looked utterly exhausted, and he’d hugged me briefly when I’d handed over the stack of three pizzas, which meant he was strung out and worried, and really, really grateful that he wasn’t going to have to be responsible for dinner on top of everything else. I knew other people from the lab had dropped off food or placed orders in the first week or so, but—as with everything—people tended to lose interest in being good Samaritans once a few days had passed, which is when things got really rough.

But even though she was definitely on the mend, Quincy still had a few days before she was up to actually working—and even then she’d probably stick to the lab for a week or so before they made her go back out into the field. Either way, I was looking forward to having her back.

Because then Aimes and I wouldn’t be about to get out of the CSI van at a crime scene. It would be Quincy, instead. And I wouldn’t feel like my nerves were completely shot. Like everything was horriblywrong.

I’d felt this way… I wasn’t even sure how long. Maybe even before Quincy got sick, although it had definitely gotten worse after that. I’d been unsettled for long enough that I couldn’t remember exactly when it had started. I thought maybe it was as early as that first Arcana case. But maybe it was the second?

Maybe it wasn’t the cases, maybe it was the whole thing with Elliot.

Or maybe it had already started before that, even. It was hard to say.

I frowned behind my mask, bunny suit already getting hot in the midday sun. A crime scene was hardly the ideal place to have an existential crisis, but my life had never been particularly convenient. If I’d been able to make life choices based on convenience, things probably would have been a lot different.

But was convenience really a reason to do things? To be things?

It certainly wasn’t convenient to be gay. But would I want to be straight? Honestly, no, not really. Not if it were something I could choose. I liked who I was. Maybe not everything I’d been through, but I wouldn’t change anything about myself now that I’d gotten here.

I’d never asked Noah if he ever wished he hadn’t become a shifter. Shifter or not, I certainly wouldn’t have ever wantednotto be Noah’s twin, even though we’d had to go through hell. I’d choose Noah every time, even if it wasn’t convenient.

“Mays!”

Maza’s sharp bark drew me out of my own thoughts. “Sorry, detective,” I apologized. “It’s been a rough few weeks.” I didn’t say the part about being without Quincy, mindful that Aimes was within earshot. It wasn’t her fault Quincy wasn’t here. Or that I was in a absolutely foul mood.

“How is she?” Maza asked, understanding exactly what I hadn’t said. There’s a reason he’s a detective, I guess.

“Better. Not a hundred percent, yet, but she’s on the way.” A week, maybe two, I reminded myself. Then things would be back to as normal as it ever got.

Maza nodded, the corners of his eyes shifting as he presumably smiled behind the masks we were now required to wear at all homicide scenes, regardless of whether they were inside or, like this one, outside. The uniforms especially bitched about it nearly constantly.

Then Maza turned his attention—first, instead of last, this time—to the body on the pavement. We were in an empty part of a parking lot of some industrial building off Robin Hood Road. There were a handful over here, and since we’d pulled up from the back, I hadn’t seen the company sign identifying it.

The victim was lying on his back, eyes staring sightlessly into the sun, pale skin already starting to get oddly waxy in the warm April day. There was a dark stain on the light-colored button-down over his lower abdomen, another on his chest, although I couldn’t make out any cuts in the fabric. To my admittedly unqualified—although not inexperienced—eyes, it looked as though he’d been dead for a while.