“I don’t know,” I replied. “And I don’t know how to make them do that when I’m not working the damn case.” Not that I particularly wanted to work it—nor would anyone let me, given that it was my own mother. In a small town you could stretch a point, but your own mother’s case was too much of a conflict of interest even for a rural town.
“That’s something for Noah’s lawyer to demand,” Hart replied. “But if neither of it is his, and the bloodispotentially another victim’s…” He trailed off.
“Then it’s a shifter killing,” I replied.
“Exactly. And then I can unleash unholy fucking hell, but until then…”
“I’ll keep you updated, thanks, Hart.”
“Be careful out there, Seth.” He used my first name, which meant he was serious. And worried. “And take care of El, too.”
“I will,” I promised, just before he hung up with a beep.
I sighed, then set the phone down on the bed beside me. Then I picked it up again and texted Elliot.
Seth Mays
They arrested Noah.
Elliot Crane
Do you need to go down to the jail?
Wouldn’t do any good.
Do you want me to come back now?
No. Just needed to tell you.
Are you sure? I can get us fast food instead of waiting for Thai.
Thai is fine.
We’ll figure it out and get him out of there.
Not soon enough.
It was maybe thirty minutes, maybe forty, later when Elliot came back into the room, setting down a bag of Thai food that honestly smelled pretty good, even with my stomach in knots. But Elliot ignored it, coming over and sitting next to me on the bed and wrapping me in his arms.
I let out a heavy breath, feeling the tears come even though I didn’t want them to.
I felt helpless, hopeless, scared of what was going to happen to Noah in jail, of what would happen to him if the charges stuck and he had to go to trial. He was a shifter. A shifter had killed Momma. It wouldn’t matter to a rural human jury whether or not it was actuallythisshifter. He would be guilty simply because he couldn’t prove that he wasn’t—because he was a shifter. The fact that he was trans wouldn’t help him, either.
While there are plenty of people who understand how gender works, there are also far too many people—especially in conservative counties like Augusta—who would hold Noah’s masculinity against him because that wasn’t how other people had seen him when he’d been born. People who might have remembered the name he’d been given by our parents, the fact that they’d dressed him in pink skirts and bows, and who didn’t understand why he insisted he was something and someone they didn’t recognize.
And there was nothing I could do. Anything I tried, I knew, would either fail to make a difference or only make things worse.
It had occurred to me that I might claim guilt for the crime to set Noah free—but I also knew that it would fail, because everyone knew otherwise. I couldn’t have done it, which meant that I would likely just end up arrested alongside Noah for impeding the investigation and lying to the police. As far as the authorities were concerned, Noah could have, and probably did. He could have, in terms of time, distance, and reason. Buthecouldn’t. Not unless he thought he or Lulu or I might die if he didn’t.
Which left me with one very important question… If Noah hadn’t done it, who had?
4
Seth Mays
Humbolt needs to talk to me ASAP.
Do you have your room key?
