Brush With Death: A Sadie Salt Urban Fantasy (Sadie Salt Series)

by Ware Wilkins

  His inhale is wet and it makes me sad I can’t use suction. I just don’t have enough hands to get the sucker in there while I work. The blade of the scalpel sizzles in his gums and the smell of burning flesh fills the room. “Okay, Buddy. Extraction time.” Using a practiced maneuver, I shift the forceps into my free hand and push them in line with the scalpel.

  If anyone walked in right now, this is what they’d see: A dentist’s chair that looks like a torture device that took a ride through hell. A sweating, grunting, teenage boy pulling hard at restraints. A petite brunette in scrubs squatting over him, blood soaked and gloved hands shoving medieval tools into his mouth, which is open as far as it can go.

  The forceps grip the molar and I squeeze to ensure the hold. Secure. Easing the scalpel out, I place its handle between my teeth, blade facing out. With both hands I hold the handles of the forceps. Then I push my feet into the chair and yank.

  Even forcing the chair to lend me its magic barely gives me the strength needed to pull the tooth out. I wiggle, Nash howls. I yank and he growls. Finally, I feel it give, just as his jaws elongate into snout and sharp teeth crash down around the space my hands had just occupied.

  Euphoria spreads through me, that rush that comes after a narrow-miss, and I leap off him as he thrashes and struggles to not shift completely. The table won’t adjust to accommodate a wolf’s body and if Nash thinks he is in pain now...

  The tooth is a human tooth. It came out clean, which is a lovely surprise. The impaction would’ve been painful enough for a human. If Nash had shifted completely with this, it might have killed him over time. True story: A human who turns into a werewolf after having their wisdoms removed has no problems. A human who was turned with them still in has no problems if they weren’t impacted.

  But a human who was turned with horizontally impacted wisdom teeth will die if the teeth aren’t removed. It’s the horizontal part. As the shift occurs, the thinning and lengthening of the jaw shoots them straight back into the throat, or worse.

  I’ve never seen it happen. It was through research into weres and the cooperation of the local pack that led me to the discovery a few years ago. Two of their wolves had died, unexpectedly, when they shifted the second or third time. An examination of the body before funeral rites were performed showed wisdom teeth shoved into the brain. The jaw of the wolf had no room for them, so in the shift they were pushed out. In those cases, it shot the teeth into the brain.

  They’d always thought it was a freak accident, something in the bite that a few humans couldn’t handle. While I certainly don’t believe everyone is cut out to be a werewolf, my hypothesis is the deaths that occur are often due to human ailments not fixed before the transition.

  Nash’s breathing is labored but even. I place the tooth in a small jar for later. “Ready for round two?”

  “Gah no. Tahk to me a bith, ifth you don’t mind. Disthraction helpth with the shifthing.”

  I sat on my swivel stool. “So. Fresh meat. How’s that going for you?”

  “I wath hoping we could thalk about comics or movies or shit.” Nash’s accelerated healing is already closing up the wound and mending the jaw. His speech goes from lisp to crisp in record time.

  “Learning from my patients helps me be a better dentist. So I don’t usually go for lightweight questions.”

  He frowns before relaxing a bit. “The bite wasn’t supposed to happen, you know.” His shoulders draw up as much as the restraints will allow, and he grimaces. “I had my knife out—hunting alone, because I’m dumb, I guess—I tripped and fell on the blade. God, it was stupid. Anyway, Henry was nearby and scented the blood. Came looking for a fresh body, I guess, and found me bleedin’ out and moaning.”

  “So he bit you to save your life?”

  “Yeah. It sucks sometimes, though. The change hurts and this thing with the teeth—”

  “I’m sorry about that. You still going to school?”

  His ears and cheeks pink again and his eyes dart to the floor. “Yeah, of course.” His response makes me smile.

  “Gotta girl?”

  This is the magic to getting him talking. The more he talks, the more his hair and claws recede. “Her name is Gina...” As he tells me about Gina and her great personality, I ready my tools and hop back up. Looking at the clock, I hope we can get this done quickly. I’m tired and I have to work tomorrow. Also, it will make me feel a hell of a lot better if I have four teeth to add to my loan payment.

  “She sounds nice. Does she know you’re a wolf? Open up, please. Let’s get another out.”

  Nash gives me the kind of eye-rolling, irritated look that only teenagers can pull off. “Why is it dentists always ask non-rhetorical questions before trying to work in a person’s mouth?”

  “Because I like you frustrated so you aren’t focused on the serious hurting that’s about to happen.”

  He winces and opens wide. His teeth are mostly human. Human enough, Sadie. You need those molars. One small scrape of those teeth and I’ve got lycanthropy on top of all my other problems. One giant bite and lycanthropy won’t be the first thing I’m worried about. It’ll be Nash, eating my hand. Ignoring my brain, which wants my hands nowhere near a partially-shifted wolf mouth, I clench my jaw and dive in.

  Chapter Two

  The silence is nice after the howling and grunting Nash let out as I pulled a second tooth. In my hand, two molars slide around in a tiny glass jar, clinking on the edges as I turn it this way and that. Two, not four, because he’d been too close to shifting and not able to rein it in after the second lower wisdom tooth came out.

  Nash is going have to come back tomorrow night to have his uppers taken out. One night away from the full moon, and one night closer to an inability to control his shift at all. It frightens me, but I’m also pretty impressed with him. A pup, he was able to keep it together through two unmedicated wisdom teeth extractions. There aren’t many weres, older or not, who could boast that.

  My exhaustion is pressing in on me as my clock shines three am like a spiteful reminder. Working on Nash took an hour and a half longer than I thought it would because he kept almost going wolf on me. Two teeth in three hours.

  When I go to set the alarm on my phone, I hear the front door to the apartment open. Soft footsteps in the hall, the kind of catlike grace that only comes from a dancer. Ingrid raps gently on my door before peeking her head in. “Why are you awake?”

  I tip my head, inviting her into my room. She steps in, shedding her trench coat to reveal an old, torn crop top, abs that models would kill for, and sweat pants hanging low on curvy hips. A few hours ago, she was probably wearing significantly less. Like a g-string and pasties, and a subtle bruise or two from acrobatics on a pole. “Late night extraction.”

  “Who?”

  “You know Nash?”

  The bed dips as she settles in next to me. This close I catch a whiff of the alcohol from the club and the dingy earth-paper odor of dirty dollar bills. Trust me, there’s a smell. “The new were?”

  “Yep.” Ingrid’s much taller than me. She comes in at a statuesque 5’11”. With her willowy dancer’s body and blond hair, I should be more jealous. But we’ve been best friends since middle school and she was there for me when I went a little crazy after my parents died. She doesn’t just see the best in me; sometimes she sees the worst and still wants to be friends. You can’t ask for more than that.

  “Wait,” she pauses before grabbing my shoulders, her long nails pressing in, “you did an extraction on a werewolf this close to the full moon? Are you crazy?”

  She’s not saying anything I haven’t already said to myself, but the burn of embarrassment still creeps up my chest and neck. In another second or two my face will be as red as her lipstick. Fortunately, it’s too dark in my room for her to see it. Also, in my defense, I’m real freakin’ tired. “I know, I know. But I’m short this quarter and Tee is coming tomorrow night to collect.”

  “Oh, fuck.” Her face mirrors my
own, but as much as I know she feels for me, it isn’t her ass on the line. Tee isn’t the kind of woman you fall short on payments with.

  “Yes, my thoughts exactly. Hence two were teeth tonight, two tomorrow night. At least, I hope they’ll count.” I show her the glass jar and her nose wrinkles.

  “Why wouldn’t they count?”

  Some part of me doesn’t want to say it out loud. It’s superstitious, maybe, but I’m afraid if I say the words they’ll carry straight to Tee’s ears and suddenly I’m in even more trouble than I already am. So, even though we’re alone in the apartment, I whisper. “They’re human teeth from before his change that were out of place in his new jaw. So even though they came from a werewolf—”

  “They may not contain as much juice,” Ingrid finishes. “Well, maybe don’t tell Tee that. And this time, for real, you need to get a contract from her. Some kind of statement. I get that the tooth fairies have been around a while and are old school, but without an official document you have no idea how much of your debt you’ve paid and how much interest is killing you.”

  “We didn’t exactly fill out a contract when we made the deal. It was more a cloak-and-daggers-shake-hands sorta deal. Which is probably how I got scammed. It feels like I got scammed.”

  “You totally got scammed. She monkey-pawed you for sure.” Ingrid rests her arm on my shoulder and strokes my hair. My eyelids shut, feeling like sandpaper. Fatigue and anxiety have wrung me out too much and the simple pleasure of fingernails combing my hair is enough to send me straight to the edge of sleep and wakefulness.

  “Guess you haven’t seen enough of my future to know if I live past tomorrow night?” I ask sleepily. Ingrid’s not just a stripper with a killer body. She’s also the daughter of one of the most powerful psychics on the east coast. Her dad’s abilities used to bring him customers from around the world, but he’s been a bit of hermit the past few years. He became withdrawn a few months after my parents were murdered and Ingrid and I saved each other from the loss and loneliness that threatens to swarm over after parents are suddenly absent.

  One would think that Ingrid was bound to inherit at least some of his abilities. She did, but only a nano-fractional amount. And her visions are almost never clear, which means guessing what they mean is pretty hit-or-miss. Like when she had a vision of smoke and called the fire department, sure that our apartment was burning down, but it was just my car futzing out five miles from home. It’s a bit of a running joke between us when I ask if she’s seen my future.

  We both know she hasn’t and, if she had, she wouldn’t know what in the hell it meant.

  “I saw great fortune for you. An ugly husband who marries you for your money, five bratty children—”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re hilarious.” She laughs and it sounds like bells. I wish we could spend more time together, but duty calls. “I gotta get to sleep. I work in a few hours.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Because she’s Ingrid, which means always sweet and thinking of others, she tucks me in just like I’m a little kid. It’s nice and I silence any snarky comments I might otherwise make. “You should ask Doc Doug for some time off tomorrow. This two-job schedule is killing you.”

  “Are you going to cover my share of the rent?” My share is larger because we have a three bedroom apartment and I’m taking up two rooms. One is where I sleep and the other is my office. Part of my large portion of the rent also covers the spells we buy to protect the carpet and walls from blood stains or any damage done by unhappy clients.

  “I wish I could, but the gas is killing me. I feel like I spend half the money I earn in a night just driving south and back.”

  “You don’t have to dance in South Carolina, you know. You could find a club closer to home. Something classy.”

  She kisses my cheek. “Yeah, but I’d have to pay in more to dance there. And a lot of those places let people bring their own booze in, which means cheapskates come to watch me work my ass off and only tip a dollar. Do you know what I can do on a pole?”

  Actually, I do, since she has a practice pole set up in her bedroom. Ingrid’s got skills to pay the bills in a non-traditional way. Some of the tricks she pulls while dancing defy the laws of physics and even I start searching for dollars to give her. “You’d get to keep your panties on. No full nudes allowed in Grimloch.”

  “I don’t mind letting my clam out. More lips, more tips, as I like to say.”

  “This is the first time you’ve said that.” My words are garbled by sleep and my pillow, though.

  “Get some sleep and try to find some time for a break. Oh, and Ms. Nickles complained to me about the noise again. We can’t convince her you’re not a prostitute, but we probably need to have Oliver up the noise suppression spell. Between my dancing at a strip club and your late night visitors, she’s determined we’re both going to hell. And she asked if you were a dominatrix.”

  Too far into sleep to reply, I settle in and dream of leather and scary people chasing me with whips.

  ~ ~ ~

  My finger jabs at the snooze button on my phone. Only, instead of turning off my alarm, I guess I answered a phone call, because my boss’s voice is on speakerphone. “Get out of bed, Sadie. You’re late.”

  That jerks me from sleep faster than a bucket of ice water ever would. I look at the screen: nine thirty. I was supposed to be at work thirty minutes ago. “Oh shit, Doug, sorry! I’ll be there in fifteen.”

  His sigh crackles over the line. “It’s fine. Bring some donuts in and you can make it thirty.”

  “Are you sure you want to be offering sugar as Grimloch’s only dentist?”

  “Hell yes, it keeps me in business. Which keeps you in a job, despite never being on time. So hurry the hell up.”

  Scrambling from the covers, I brush my teeth, swish, floss because I didn’t have a chance the night before, and am in scrubs and in my car in record time. My hair is pulled up in a ponytail because people who oversleep don’t get the luxury of curling irons. Also, sniffing my armpits, I realize I haven’t showered in a few days, so really, a ponytail is my only option.

  My car grumbles to a start and I pat the dashboard. “Come on, baby.” It’s almost fall. The weather hasn’t dropped yet, because North Carolina is always unseasonably warm in September, even in the mountains. When it’s cold and my engine won’t crank, I’m in trouble. That’s a problem for a later date. Now I speed to our local bakery and hope I have enough cash to cover a dozen donuts.

  Grimloch, situated about an hour west of Asheville, is about to get busy with tourists. The Blue Ridge Parkway runs through my small town and when the leaves go technicolor and begin to fall, it’s one of the most beautiful places on earth. This town especially, with its old-world charm and historic buildings, becomes a magical place in autumn. We’re full of antique stores, bakeries, candy shops, and there’s the train, too. In a few weeks the more “tourist trap” businesses, like the Native American Ghost Trail and the “panning for gold” places will open.

  Until then, it’s quiet, something I don’t take for granted as I zip through the streets, pressing the speed limit in a dash to carve minutes off my tardiness. Just as I pull into Tiffany’s Treats, my favorite local bakery, blue lights flash behind me.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Slowing to a stop, I turn the car off and look in the rearview. Please don’t let it be him, please don’t let it be him...

  The door opens and first comes the wide-brimmed hat and then comes my hopes and dreams crashing around me. It’s him. Sheriff Abraham Murray. My head presses into the head rest, though I doubt this is what the car manufacturers were imagining when they put it in the model. Could this morning get any worse?

  As he raps his knuckles on my window, I mutter a small curse because I should know better than to think it. Things can always get worse. My window is a hand crank and Abe’s eyebrow cocks in amusement as I wheel it down.

  “Nice morning, isn’t it, Sadie?”

  “Hey Abe, I�
�m so sorry—”

  “Looks like it might be a hot day later.” He’s leaning on my door now. It places his hip and the front of those sexy tight pants at direct eyesight. My gaze lingers a little too long.

  “I was going at least fifty in a twenty-five, but—”

  “A scorcher in September. That’s how it always goes. Starts chilly, heats up right quick. It’s been dry as hell, too. This afternoon I’ll have to join the rangers to let campers know not to start fires for the week. That’s always a pain.”

  So here’s the thing. Abe is hot. Like, stupid hot. It isn’t just the way his chiseled jaw could be in the movies or he keeps his stubble at a perfect five-o’clock shadow no matter what time it is. He’s got this sandy-brown hair that’s always trimmed and styled in that “messy” sort of way that GQ models sport. I could write love poems about his body and the last time I saw him without a shirt was when we were sixteen. He just wears clothes that let you know in a nice, subtle, convenient way that he’s in great shape. Also, Abe and I went to school together. People who grow up in Grimloch tend to stay in the GL, and we all know each other.

  He’s normal. Not just normal in the doesn’t-know-about-the-supernaturals way. I mean all around normal. Captain of the football team, winning smile, always friendly and willing to help out. Gorgeous and just nice. The thing he’s doing now? Literally his only flaw, so far as I know. He’s using small talk to get under my skin because I was speeding and therefore in a hurry. This is his punishment.

  If I wasn’t running so completely late, I wouldn’t mind any conversation he’s willing to throw my way. But I am late, and I’m running on four hours of sleep, and I just need donuts and for the universe to cut me a little slack.

  “I’ll have to change into shorts after work, I guess. Good thing scrubs aren’t too heavy, unlike that uniform. Looks uncomfortable.” I’m playing his game in the hopes that he speeds it up.