by Ware Wilkins
“Oh? Got plans after work?”
Well, I gotta yank the top wisdom teeth out of a werewolf who is one sneeze away from a moon-forced shift and I’ve got a date with my debtor, the Tooth Fairy. I’m short on enamel this month and she won’t be happy. Turns out she’s a real bitch. So, you know, just the usual. “I’m tutoring tonight. Nash Kincaid, you know him?”
“Yeah! Hey, today’s his birthday. I can’t believe he’s coming in for tutoring.” My palms are sweating and I keep glancing at the clock. Why does this have to be the time that Abe finally wants to share more than a pleasant ‘hello’ with me?
“I didn’t know!”
“Oh, I figured you were here to pick up a cake, since you mentioned his name and tutoring and we’re in front of Tiffany’s.”
It’s hard not to scream. This is one of those times life feels truly unfair. What I want to be happening is this: I’m not running late. I’m early, picking up donuts for my boss, Dr. Doug Winston. Abe runs into me and is charmed by my luxurious hair that I totally had time to wash and style, and body that’s more curvaceous than reality. He asks me what I’m doing tonight and, with a flip of my hair, I say something sexy and forthcoming like “letting you pick me up at seven.” We’d get dinner, maybe at Moonlight, and then go home and screw like imps.
Instead I smell bad, my hair is greasy, I’m running so tragically late I’m past redemption, and now he knows I’m hanging with a seventeen (wait, eighteen) year old. Tutoring. “Getting donuts for Doc, since I’m running really, really late for work.” Can’t be subtle anymore. Get the hint, Abe, and please oh please be forgiving.
“Ah,” Abe says before kneeling next to the door. He takes his hat off and sweat is glistening in his sandy locks. I stifle the impulse to reach out and smooth a cowlick. “So that’s why you were speeding. Almost double the speed limit and,” he nods in the direction of a sign, “in a school zone. Which is kind of a big deal, Salty.”
Salty. I hate the nickname. My last name’s Salt and, being pint-sized, I developed a sharp tongue at a young age. Defense mechanism, really, but instead of gaining respect I just gained a nickname.
“Abe, I’m sorry. I know I was speeding and I shouldn’t have been. No donut or happy boss is worth risking lives.”
His lips purse. Beautiful, perfectly molded lips—
“Okay. Well, get your donuts and get on to work.”
My heart leaps into my throat. I’m not just short on teeth this month—cash is tight, too. Not having a ticket means the world to me. I fake cough so I can hide the relieved tears that are threatening to spill down my cheeks. “Thanks, Abe.”
Inside, there’s a hint of magic that no one would notice if they didn’t know what to look for. But I do. It’s in the bakery case that’s clean no matter how many snot-nosed and sugar-coated children press against it. Or the coffee, that always manages to taste freshly brewed even if it’s been in the carafe for hours. It’s proprietor, Tiffany, is fae and a patient of mine. This morning, she’s chipper enough to make me grimace, and puts together a box of her finest for me. She makes sure to include Doug’s favorite, maple glazed. For that, I thank her profusely. Sometimes it pays to live in a small town.
When I get back out to my car, my breath hitches. Abe’s still there. He has a folded piece of paper between his fingers, which he sets on top of my box of donuts. My heart skips. Did he just give me his phone number? That would turn a craptastic day into the best day ever, hands down.
The wind ruffles the note.
It’s a ticket.
“You gave me a ticket after letting me go in to get donuts? What the hell, Abe?”
His laugh comes from his belly. “I didn’t want to make you any later than you already were. This way, you weren’t just waiting around for me to write it out.”
Inside, I’m crumbling. This is a stress I didn’t need. Yes, I know speeding is my fault. But can’t a girl just get a freakin’ break? “Fine, asshole. Will you open my door please? My hands are full of donuts and oppression.”
His mouth quirks in a way I want to find sexy but I’m still too pissed off to. He does, at least, open my door. As I lean in to put the donuts safely in the passenger seat, Abe decides to have the last word. “Is this where you remind me that your tax dollars pay my salary? Aristotle said ‘At his best, man is the noblest of all animals; separated from law and justice he is the worst.’”
I’m sure the vampires would have something to say about that. And the weres. And the fae. As far as the supernaturals went, man was pretty far down on the pecking order, noble or not. We’re usually just viewed as clever cattle. Once I’m settled in my seat, I turn to Abe. “You’re awfully well read for a small town sheriff.”
“You’re awfully cute for a small town dental assistant. Get to work. I’ll call Doug and let him know why you’re extra late.” Small niceties, my ass.
Placing his sheriff’s hat back on, Abe walks away before my brain registers the ‘awfully cute’ part of his comment. It was still stuck on the ‘how to pay for a traffic ticket.’ Once it hits me that the man I’ve been crushing on for fifteen years just told me I’m cute, my brain basically stops working altogether.
Chapter Three
“You get to clean.” He doesn’t mean teeth. He means the office. Doug’s words are mumbled by his face mask, but I know the drill. If I’m late (and at this point I’m very, very late) then I get to clean instead of learn. He often lets me watch and teaches me a lot of what he does.
Which, in turn, helps me guess with a bit more direction when I’m poking around in the mouths of creatures that could eat me. “Roger,” I reply, and go to grab the broom. Honestly, it’s a small slap on the wrist and I deserve it and probably more.
The sounds of his drill and a patient’s discomfort fill the silence as I sweep. It’s just a couple of cavities, nothing new, so we both know I’m not missing out on much.
“Why were you up so late?” His muffled voice calls out again. There’s a grunt and some weird, animal-like noises until Doug snaps, “Obviously not talking to you, Fullerton.” A quick drill, a groan of discomfort. “If I was talking to you, I wouldn’t put all these tools in your damned mouth. Sadie, why were you up so late?”
Slowing my sweeping, I smile. Doctor Doug Winston is almost as old as Grimloch. Okay, that’s not true. But he is old and grumpy and the town’s only official dentist. Seeing as most of the world doesn’t know about the supernaturals, nobody in our town that’s normal knows I’m also practicing dentistry. Here, I’m just the dental assistant.
I guess not having competition and having been a dentist for so long has given Doug the cajones to say whatever he wants to patients. He’ll call them names, tell them about their halitosis in the worst terms, and be rough or stingy with numbing gel if they piss him off. Not going to lie—I love it.
He also teaches me things in the hopes that I’ll go to Dental School. On more than one occasion he’s told me about his dream of leaving the practice to me. After all, I already know the people and I’d keep it the way it is: Like a torture club from the nineteen seventies. His couches in the waiting room are avocado colored. It doesn’t get better than that.
“I wasn’t up too late,” I lie, looking at the bristles of my broom.
“Bullshit, you’ve got bags like suitcases under your eyes and you slept through your alarm again. What’s so important that you’re staying up so late when you know you’ve got a job?”
It’s the same lie I always tell. “I was tutoring.” Tutoring is one of those nice jobs that no one wants to know more about. It’s the kind of thing poor young adults such as myself do to make a little extra cash. It’s a great cover because it’s a boring cover, so no one pushes for specifics.
“Huh,” Doug grunted. “Hey, mix me up some of the resin filler, will you?”
“You didn’t get it ready before the drilling?”
“Nah. Fullerton here was feeling sassy. Weren’t you?” There wasn’t an answer. “Hey
! That time I was asking you a question. Geez.”
I washed up and set to mixing the resin and composite material. It’s tooth colored and while Doug prefers old-school gold, the aesthetics of the resin make it popular. I prefer the resin because precious metals can cause allergies in my ‘special’ customers. When it’s prepped I hand it to him and grab the sucker. Moving to the patient’s other side, I use my glove-tipped pinky to open the cheek and clear out the saliva and blood. With my help, the rest of it goes quickly.
Jess Fullerton is eager to pay and leave.
“Who’s next?”
“We don’t have anyone in until after lunch. Let’s have some coffee.”
I pour it, wincing as the acrid smell hits me. This is the true punishment to being late; Doug made the morning pot of coffee. When he makes it, I’m pretty sure he mixes brimstone in with the grounds because it tastes like hell. We clink ancient, chipped mugs and sip.
My esophagus burns, but the extra caffeine immediately helps.
“I wish I could pay you more, Sadie. You know that, right?” Doug’s mask is tucked under his weak chin. His white whiskers are getting longer and, I hate to admit, his eyes are starting to look cloudy. He’s the dentist I went to growing up. He sent me into Asheville for braces and yelled at me for eating popcorn while they were on. But he also kept me from having any discoloration from the brackets, because he’s damned good at his job. He’s been doing it for forever, but apparently even forever has a final destination.
Our relationship works because he can be a dick and I don’t mind. It usually makes me laugh. When he gets serious like this, though, I like to change the subject. Clearing my throat, I set down the mug and start cleaning up his chair and work station.
“When are you going to go to school?” He presses, sitting on his stool.
“When I can afford it, I guess.”
“There’s scholarships. Or ask your weird ass uncle. Eclectic people like him always have money.” The distaste on Doug’s face pulls me from the funk the tender moment was threatening to cause.
“Oliver’s weird and poor. Plus, he’s not really the blood-is-thicker-than-water kind of uncle that you can hit up for cash.”
“Color me surprised,” Doug retorted wryly. “I’ve never thought much of him. The only good thing he’s ever done in his life is take you in after your parents were—” He cuts short. Even Doug, with his cynicism and gruff talk, doesn’t like to talk about my parent’s deaths.
I, though, don’t shy away from the facts. “After they were murdered.” He winces and I’d feel bad except it’s been over six years since my parents were found slaughtered and if anyone should be having a hard time about it still, it’s me. I do still struggle with it, but I find saying what happened to them out loud helps. Glossing over it or pretending it didn’t happen the way it did only cheapens all the choices I’ve made since then to move on.
Most of those choices have been the wrong ones, but regret doesn’t get you much other than heartache.
“Yes. After they were murdered. I didn’t expect Oliver to step up and take you in.”
“He just didn’t want to see me lost in the system. He’s okay like that. And he’s like you, Doug. He’s only nice to me, so you can’t see that he’s actually a pretty good guy.”
This earns a scowl. “I’m not like him at all, thank you, and I’m nice to everyone. It’s why my business is still doing well when the town knows I should’ve retired ages ago.”
I begin sweeping again. Talking about my parents and Oliver, even in passing, opens the hole in my heart each time. It’s good that I have so much on my plate today; with Tee coming tonight, I won’t have time to mope. “They keep coming because they don’t want to drive an hour to Asheville just to get a cleaning.”
“Sadie, how did we get off the topic of you going to school?”
“Through my crafty manipulations, Doug. I’ll go. I will. There’s just... things I have to do first before I’m free to go.”
“Six years is a long time to wait for closure.”
“Yeah.”
The afternoon passes slowly after that. It’s awkward because I can tell Doug is disappointed in me yet again for not leaving Grimloch. I know how badly he wants to leave this place to me. I hate when he’s disappointed in me. Oliver might be my uncle, but Doug and Ingrid are my family.
The thing that sucks the most is that today has reminded me of how much I’d love to go to school. I’d love to be a dentist and take over Doug’s business. The people in this town have known me all my life. I’d get to be the crotchety old dentist who cleaned everyone’s teeth from when they were a toddler on. Abe flirted with me this morning. Abe, who represents everything normal. He’s a great guy. Nice. He works as a sheriff in a slow, small town. We could fall in love, build a cabin on the mountain. Have five kids. I could just be a mom and a wife and a dentist.
That probably sounds awful to other people but damn, it feels like paradise to me.
It’s a life I’ll never have.
The rest of the afternoon passes smoothly. Two more patients, both cleanings. Dr. Winston’s rude to them both and I chuckle as they suffer through it. I’ve swept, mopped, wiped down counters, sanitized instruments, and run their insurance.
Looking at my watch, it’s close to five. It’s still light outside, and warm now. Abe had been right, the day had been hot. The normally crisp mountain air has landed closer to humid, and I’m sad my AC is crapped out in the car. Windows down, I guess. “Anything else you need me to do?”
Doug glances back. “Stop being complacent with being a dental assistant for the rest of your life?”
“Other than that. I’m going to grab a quick bite before tutoring.”
He sighs loud enough I can hear it across the room. It makes it almost endearing. “Eat something sugary and go to sleep without brushing or flossing. Business has been slow.”
“Okay, I’ll do that. See you tomorrow!”
The door chimes as I open it and Doug gets the last word, shouting “on time!” as it swings shut after me. Getting in my car, I roll down the windows and let it cool off a bit while I plan my evening. Nash is coming over at nine. Ingrid will be out dancing until late (or early, depending on how you looked at it). I have enough time to grab a quick dinner, take a shower, nap for an hour, and then set up for the extraction. It’ll have to go faster than last night, both because I know Nash will have a harder time controlling his wolf and because Tee always shows up at midnight on the dot when she wants to get paid. If you want anything else from her, there’s a tedious summoning process.
She doesn’t like to be summoned, and I don’t like to be on her bad side any more than I am, so midnight it is.
With the two extra teeth I should be getting from Nash, I’ll at least have a small payment to give her to offset what I owe. The problem with Tee, aside from the fact that she doesn’t buy excuses, is the interest. Our deal is clear: If I miss a payment, I have to give her something of mine. Like, an actual bone of mine. So if I miss a payment, I’ll have to pay with my teeth first. We’re not talking one per payment, either, so that sucks. Then she’ll probably want finger bones, which would kill my dentist practice, which would lead to more missed payments... Yeah, not an option. Partial payments, though, usually only add interest. For Tee, interest means favors that she can call in at any time. I’ve never had a favor called in, but I owe three already. It’s not hard to assume, though, that the kind of woman willing to take your teeth and fingers as punishment probably asks for some screwed up favors.
It’s quiet in my car and the breeze is blowing. It feels like an indulgence, but I close my eyes and lean my head back on the rest. Just being still. Letting the pain of my parent’s absence wash over me. It’s a useful survival trick I discovered after they died. If I let myself feel the sorrow, let it seep into me without trying to dilute it, it can run through me like I’m a sieve. Moments steeped in grief are better than years of choking on it.
&n
bsp; The one thing I don’t allow myself to do is remember their bodies. I’m the one that found them and when I say they were slaughtered, I don’t use that term lightly. It’s okay to miss them. It’s okay to remember the fond memories, like how my mom liked to take me for hot chocolate every day after school, even if it was hot. She’d been hooked on coffee and used the bonding time as an excuse for an afternoon cup. I can’t see a paper to-go cup without picturing the stain of her lipstick on the white plastic top. Or how my dad would let me push bedtime endlessly when I asked him to read more books. He’d go through books and later chapters long past bedtime, his easy cadence lulling me to sleep. But I don’t let myself picture that night. Because those memories don’t bring grief—they unleash rage.
And rage is what led me to a debt I’ll probably never be able to pay with the Tooth Fairy.
Aware that I’m burning precious nap time, I shake my head, rattling the sorrow that’s settled into me. In another exhale, it’s gone. All that’s left is a muted ache that’ll flare up some other time, with some other reminder.
Dinner is chicken nuggets and waffle fries from the oven. Ingrid and I are terrible eaters. She dances off all the calories, so she can eat what she wants. Aside from decent genetics, I suspect that the stress of my schedule keeps me slim as well as exhausted.
I don’t even bother with a shower. Instead, I crawl into my bed, still dressed, and set my phone. When it goes off again, it feels as if I only just shut my eyes. Getting back out of bed is painful. I’m hitting that point of fatigue where naps don’t help; they only remind me of a sleep deficit I’ll never get out of.
The only bonus to being stretched thin is I’m too tired to dream.
Chapter Four
There’s knocking coming from the front door and it’s back to work for me. Rubbing the sleep and irritation from my eyes, I open it and find Nash waiting, hands shoved in his pockets.