Page 49 of The Rut in the Road

Raj had the right to live his life how he chose. To share—or not—the fact that he was a shifter with whom he chose to. But it also felt weird to think about the fact that he might not feel comfortable being himself around other people. And the fact that I hadn’t noticed made me wonder whether or not he felt comfortable fully being himself aroundme.

“Earth to Rayn,” my sister said, pulling me out of my thoughts with a start. She sounded slightly annoyed.

“Sorry,” I apologized. “I was just thinking about what it must be like for Raj to have to decide whether or not to hide his shifter identity from people.”

Her expression smoothed out a little. “And he shouldn’thaveto,” she said, her voice still intense, but less than it had been. “There shouldn’t need to be a reason to worry—whether he’s a shifter or not shouldn’tmatter. Not really.”

I grimaced, because while I did agree with her in principle, I also knew that wasn’t how things worked—and not just becauseof bigotry. “Shiftersaredifferent,” I said softly. “Notworse, butdifferent. You can’t just pretend they’re human any more than you can pretend any of us is human.”

Violette’s expression darkened. “The fuck does that mean?” she demanded.

“We need things to be different,” I told her, trying to explain. “In the same way that it’s harder for me to interact with things that other people touch… I don’twantto have to constantly block out thoughts. I’d rather be able to know that I can get clothes or dishes or something that won’t have other people’s memories attached to them. If you pretend that I’m just a normie human, then I have to constantly deal with that.”

Vi’s face was screwed up in concentration as she considered what I was saying, her hands twisting the corners of the pillow. Something I would never do to someone else’s pillow because I’d worry about what thoughts had been left behind on it. My hands didn’t fidget. They stayed on my thighs because I knew they’d be safe there.

“Shifters are the same,” I continued. “Raj needs more food, moreproteinthan humans do. He has much stronger senses, so things like strong perfume or aftershave are irritating.” He’d once told me he liked the fact that I didn’t use aftershave because it meant I didn’t smell like a chemical scent factory. It was the first time I’d thought about that, and I was glad that I was too cheap to buy any—and that as long as I was dating him, I wouldn’t need to ever think about it. There were other things I wasn’t going to mention—the fact that strong emotions might make his eyes turn even more gold and his teeth lengthen, for instance. Things that he might not want other people to know, and which could put him at risk if the wrong person saw them.

Arcanids like Hart or Mason had less choice—people knew exactly what they were just by looking at them. And people assumed things based on that. Stereotyped them. Judged them.None of which was fair, but they were different. All Arcanids needed more food than humans did—their magic gave them higher metabolisms. But Hart had to eat vegetarian because he was an elf.

“Iknowthat,” Vi replied. “But that doesn’t mean they have to be treated differently.”

“Except it does,” I replied, trying to get her to understand. “It doesn’t mean they should have laws made against them, but their bodies work differently, and their needs aren’t the same as a normie human’s, so they do need to be treated differently. Notbadly, just differently.”

She wrinkled her nose. “But different is always better or worse,” she said, clearly unhappy about it. “It’s never just different.”

I couldn’t really argue with her. What little I knew of history said she was right.

The place Violettedemanded we go to for dinner was a pizza place that clearly thought of itself as gourmet and hip, but was also just as clearly a chain. It smelled good, though. The place was decently crowded, and we were taken out to a patio in the back with wrought-iron chairs and tables under a pergola hung with vines. Vi ordered a sweet tea and mozzarella sticks to start, and I got myself a lemonade, despite the fact that the server was clearly trying to get me to buy a beer.

“Do you not drink?” she asked. “Or is it cuz you’re driving back?”

“I—don’t usually,” I replied. “Drink.”

“Oh,” she said, her cheeks flushing a little. “Why?” Then, a beat later, before I had a chance to answer. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

I shrugged because I didn’t mind. “Anything that might make it harder for me to control my psychic abilities isn’t something I’m interested in,” I replied.

“Oh.” She thought about that for a few seconds. “Will you tell me what it’s like?” she asked. “Being psychic? I—I didn’t ask before because I thought it might be rude, but—” She shrugged. “I’m curious, if you don’t mind telling me.”

I pushed a brief smile onto my lips as a way to reassure her that I wasn’t upset or annoyed with her for asking. “It’s almost like hearing someone’s voice in your head—except notintheir voice—narrating whatever it was they were thinking about when they were last touching whatever it is I’m touching.”

“Whoa. Weird.” She flushed a little. “I mean. I assumed it would be like, visions, or something.”

I nodded. “Some people do see visions,” I replied. “But not me.”

“Huh.”

We both fell silent as the server delivered our drinks, then scooted off when we assured her we didn’t need anything else.

“Why do you think that is?” Vi asked. “That some people see visions, but you hear voices. Sort of.” She flushed again. “You know what I mean.”

I smiled. “I don’t actually know for sure—nobody does, at least according to the research I did for my history of psychic abilities paper last year. I’d guess it’s just like anything else, that people’s brains work differently. If someone’s a visual learner, they see visions.” I shrugged. “I’m more an audio sort of person, so I hear them.”

Vi nodded over the rim of her sweet tea, then set it down. “That makes sense. Hasn’t anybody studied it or something?”

“Not much, actually. I mean, sure, there are studies, but sometimes people still get told they’re the wrong thing after they change. Ward had a case a while ago where somebody thought they were a medium, but they were actually a past seer—but because they only saw murders, they assumed it was the dead communicating with them.”

Violette’s eyes were wide. “Whoa,” she murmured. “I—don’t think I’d like that much.”