with lines on the floor. One corner was marked “Revenue” with gold lines. Another was marked “Public Works” with green lines. “Schools and Social Services” was marked in red and “Everything Else” was marked with blue.
“The whole parish government operates from this one room?” she marveled.
Zed seemed very pleased with himself as he pointed to the various departments. “Well, I get my own office over there and the sheriff gets his own office on the opposite side. But it works just fine. We don’t have much room here and it keeps things simple if we can just holler at each other from across a room instead of callin’ and leavin’ messages and cursin’ the voicemail and gettin’ so stirred up you can’t remember why you called in the first place. End-of-work was a little while ago, but usually this place is a beehive. Theresa Anastas keeps us all lined up and running without smacking into each other. She runs the Everything Else department. Gigi Grandent—she’s a seventy-seven-year-old human and more terrifying than I could ever be—runs Public Works with an iron fist. Mr. Chiron retired as superintendent, but he’s good at keepin’ the schools running. And Betchel Boone may be a bit of couillon but no one can keep the books balanced like he can.”
“Boone? As in the family that seems to own all of the businesses in town?” She gestured toward the street.
Zed grinned. “Caught that, did ya? Nice enough folks, the Boones, I suppose. They’re used to gettin’ their way and get plenty fired up if they don’t. We let ‘em throw their money around because it makes them happy and keeps the town in clover. And then we mostly get things done when they’re not around.”
A sharp voice interrupted him, “Not all of us are like that, Zed.”
Zed’s cheeks went a little pink under his beard, when another man, lean and tall with almost preternaturally sharp cheek bones appeared in the doorway marked, “Sheriff’s Department. Check all firearms with the mayor before knocking.” The man’s light hair was shorn close, which only emphasized his large, amber-colored eyes and sharp features. He was wearing a tan police uniform and a gun belt that seemed to have a lot of “extras,” but Jillian wasn’t super-familiar with law enforcement gear… And she was staring at his narrow waist, which he had noticed. Awkward.
Zed shook off his embarrassment by flashing that winsome grin again.
“’Course not. Sheriff, you are the exception to all the rules,” he said in a condescending, teasing tone. “Dr. Ramsay, this is Sheriff Boone. Sheriff, this is Dr. Jillian Ramsay.”
“Sheriff, I’m pleased to meet you.” Jillian did not reach out to shake his hand, another etiquette issue. Some species of the supernatural world, like the Irish spriggans, could lose their glamour when touched by humans, so casual physical touch with strangers was taboo. Also, some species, like the rainforest-dwelling nagual were extremely prone to colds and therefore a little germaphobic.
The Sheriff said nothing. He simply stared at her with those strange eyes of his, as if he was categorizing her every freckle and flaw.
Zed sighed. “I told you all about her, Boone. Twice. This is the doctor that’s gonna be studyin’ how well we run things in our little town, so she can help other little towns do the same,” Zed said, in a tone that was probably meant to evoke some sort of friendly response.
Instead, the sheriff growled, “Seems to me that those towns should figure that out for themselves.”
Jillian scoffed, “Well, that’s an interesting approach to interspecies cooperation.”
The sheriff crossed his rangy arms over his broad chest. “Never said I planned on any approach.”
Zed cleared his throat. “Doc, you got those papers for me to sign? I’ll leave you two to your howd’ya do’s.”
Jillian reached into her enormous canvas shoulder bag, handed him a carefully labeled manila envelope full of reprinted paperwork. Zed opened the sheaf of official documents and beamed at her. “I get to use my official mayor stamp. I love doin’ that.”
Boone muttered, “To a point that might embarrass any other man.”
Ignoring the sheriff, Zed strode into his office. Jillian turned her head toward the sheriff. The hair elastic keeping her thick blond mop off of her neck gave up the fight. It snapped and her hair fell around her face like a slightly damp gold curtain. The sheriff’s eyes flashed and not with annoyance at the mayor. There were actual rays of light shining behind his irises. Which she now realized were