Page 13 of The Rut in the Road

“Something like that,” I replied with a snort. Cass Reinhertz had roped me into another case last summer, once my arm had healed, and while it wasn’t nearly as exciting as the one that had ended with me at the bottom of a well, I was totally fine with that. I had no interest in getting kidnapped ever again. But I had gotten to help solve a murder by identifying the knife the killer had used out of about a hundred of them in a hotel kitchen.

I’d almost not passed my summer Arcane Biology class because I hadn’t studied for the final exam because I’d been touching knives in that kitchen. I’d done pretty terribly, but, fortunately for me, a C- is still a passing grade.

“You passed that bio class, though, right?”

I nodded. “Barely, but yeah.”

She pulled at the long stem of one of the ornamental grasses growing out of the little black granite planters on either side of the stone. “I’m thinking about law school,” she said. “So I’m gonna switch and do poli sci. And maybe sociology.” Last year, she’d been thinking biology and maybe vet school.

“You want to be a lawyer now?” I asked her.

She nodded. “I’m thinking so,” she said. “I—I really want to work in Arcanid rights. Either as a defense attorney or, like, as an advocate. Maybe both.”

“It’s a pretty thankless job these days,” I told her. “And… dangerous.” While there hadn’t been a fatal protest in Richmond for over a year and a half, they did happen, especially when they were organized by the Magic Free Movement or other, similar, anti-Arcane groups.

“Says you,” Violette retorted. “Mr. Got-Kidnapped-and-Thrown-in-a-Well.”

“That’s why I’m saying it,” I told her. “I’ve known too many people who’ve gotten hurt at those.” I drew in a deep breath. “I’m not saying not to do it,” I said, trying to explain. “Just that… it’s not a safe job. And you should know that before you go into it, that’s all.” Something Mason had said to me once came back to me. “Go in with your eyes open.”

She let out a grunt. “Fair enough.” She fiddled with the stem of the grass. “I just—it’s not right, you know? What people are saying.”

“Which part?” I asked her. “The part where no Arc-humans or Arcanids are allowed to have rights, or the part where people think we don’t even deserve to live?” I winced, a bit surprised at the bitterness in my own voice.

Violette looked up at me, as surprised as I was. “What happened?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Nothing,” I admitted. “Not to me, anyway. Not because of that.” I sighed, sticking my hands in my pockets so that I didn’t start fidgeting with them. “Everything I’ve had to deal with is because I’m a witch.” It was why my parents had committed me to Tranquil Brook, and it was why Martin Garraway had kidnapped me and tried to steal my magic. None of that had happened to me because I was a psychic.

“If not to you, then who?” she asked, her voice quiet and serious.

I sighed. “Lots of people,” I admitted. “Mason. Hart. Ward and Beck, too, but less. And Raj, if people know.”

“That he’s FBI?” she asked.

“That he’s a shifter.” I was surprised she didn’t know, but there really wasn’t a reason she should have. I felt a little guilty I’d said it, though—it was rude to out people as shifters or Arcs without their permission. I hoped it wouldn’t bother him that I’d told Violette.

“Oooh,” she said. “Is it true they’re hotter than we are? Like, temperature-wise, not like, sexy-wise.” Then she grinned at me. “I mean. I also want to know if he’s hot that way, too. Younevertalk about him.”

I rolled my eyes. “Clearly I do, since you know he’s my boyfriend,” I retorted.

“And I know his name is Raj, and he’s an FBI agent, and he’s older than you… and, now, that he’s a shifter. That’s what I know. So. Dish. Is he hot?”

I felt my cheeks heat. “You actually want to talk about this over our parents’ grave?” I asked her. I might not have the best sense of decorum or social awareness, but even I knew that talking about your love life wasn’t generally something considered appropriate to discuss at gravesides.

Violette pushed the grass stem away. “Nah. I don’t really have much to say to these assholes, anyway. You get what you wanted?”

I shrugged. “I wasn’t sure what I wanted,” I told her. “It just seemed… like something I should do at least once.”

“You want to piss on the grave?” she asked me.

“What? No! Why would I do that?” I stared at her, horrified. Not because I found the idea particularly offensive, just… unsanitary. And also illegal.

She laughed. “I dunno. Revenge? Retribution for having thrown you in that hell-hole?”

I kept staring at her. “What good would that do?” I asked her.

Another laugh. “Nothing real, obviously. But it might feel good to just do it,” she said.

“Why?” I honestly couldn’t think of any reason why that would feel good.