Jedaiah scanned the temple’s hall before slipping his hand underneath his white sleeve. The spots itched more each moment. That morning when they’d met to discuss the accommodations needed for the influx of pilgrims, he’d had to bite his cheek around the other priests to keep from scratching. He’d thought the white spots were merely callouses from working on his house, but then the itching had started.
He stepped onto the ladder. With people flooding into the city for Passover, they all needed to pitch in to handle the hundreds of extra sacrifices. Grabbing a handful of tongs, he balanced them in his elbow and started back down. . .