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

by Ware Wilkins

  If it had been anyone other than a supernatural, their jaw would’ve been swollen and bruised after last night’s extraction. But Nash’s lycanthropy gives him speedy healing and aside from the pained expression on his face, he looks no worse for the wear.

  “Sadie. You look awful.”

  Me, on the other hand... Obviously my recovery skills are lacking. Of course, what I really need is about two weeks of uninterrupted sleep, and I’m not sure that being supernatural removes the need for rest.

  “Thanks?” I smirk and move aside so he can come in.

  “I’m sorry. You just look beat. Long week?”

  Long week. Long month. Long years. Take your pick, kid. “Yeah. Just pulling a lot of doubles.”

  He laughs and it’s filled with youth and I envy it. “Pulling doubles. You pulled two of my teeth last night, and you’re pulling two tonight! It’s a pun!”

  Wow.

  “So go ahead and get on the chair, Nash. I’m going to get prepped. Did you eat before you came over?”

  “Sure did. Five hamburgers, fries, two milkshakes.”

  “Do you feel full?”

  He takes too long to think about it. Sighing, I point to the kitchen. “Eat some cereal or something first, then get in the chair.” I’m hoping that if his body is over-sated with food, his wolf won’t rush out when I start yanking. Last night there’d been too much feeling around and waiting.

  Tonight will have to be fast. The full moon is right around the corner.

  “So Sadie, I’ve got an embarrassing question to ask.” Nash sits on my stool, a mixing bowl filled with Marshmallow Charms in his hands. I make a quick mental note that I’ll need to go to the store to replace the box he’s eating.

  “Shoot.”

  “Alec was talking to me last night after I got back. He wants me to ask you for the teeth you pulled last night. I need the ones from tonight, too.”

  This is going to be an issue. “Can’t do it, Nash. Alec can come talk to me if he wants.” By that time, your teeth will be long gone. My stomach twists. Nash is just a kid, and more than that, he’s a fresh, new werewolf. He’s just now learning about the supernatural world, the world he never knew was outside his door until he got bitten. Beyond having to navigate things like pack law and hierarchy, there’s a whole world of monsters that he’s discovering are real and have rules, too.

  So he couldn’t be expected to know about the sacredness of a person’s bones, and yeah, it’s not cool, but I was kind of banking on that.

  Alec, his packmaster, knows about the sacredness, though. I can’t look at Nash, because the guilt is eating me up. It’s a shitty trick to pull. The young were’s voice is strained. “He said he can pay you for the procedure. The pack is good for it.”

  This is the same fight I’ve been having with the pack, and the local vampire nest, and the local coven. I don’t need money. Well, I do, but financial debt isn’t the debt I’m worried about. I owe someone scarier than the bank, and she wants her payment in enamel. “I know Alec is. And he knows I’m going to say no. My fee for extraction services is always keeping the teeth.”

  “Ah, shit,” Nash moans. “I’m supposed to walk out if you say that.” Alarm jolts through me. I need those teeth. The clock is ticking down and there’s not another source I can get to tonight.

  “For the love of toast, he’s paid me in teeth before! Nash, you’ll probably die if you shift for the full moon and I don’t take out those teeth. Would you like me to draw a diagram of how the change in the shape of your jaw will slowly and painfully push your wisdom teeth into your brain?”

  He’s pale and sets down the bowl like he’ll be sick. God, I hate this part. “What has Alec told you about your teeth?” Maybe if he talks he won’t puke and I can find something to twist around so he doesn’t panic. To make the payment easier on him and his alpha.

  “He told me that a person’s bones contain their souls.” I catch a dubious note in his voice and exhale in relief. Doubt is something I can work with. I mean, he’s sort of right, but he doesn’t need to know the specifics.

  Right?

  “Weres believe bones hold the soul, but it’s not exactly true. It’s more like your history. A sort of life essence built from your memories. They’re also excellent containers for magic. The older and tougher the person is, the more magic their teeth and bones are.” Nash’s frown isn’t making me feel better about this argument. I need to switch tactics. “The reason Alec wants your teeth back is, as long as you’re alive, they can be used to control you. Kind of like voodoo.” Exactly like voodoo.

  Now he’s fidgeting and his eyes dart to the door. My hands go up, motioning for him to wait. “They can be used against you by a necromancer. Now, I’m no necromancer. If I was, do you think I’d be risking my limbs to yank your teeth?” When he doesn’t answer, I respond to my own question. “No. No I wouldn’t. I’d be working some magic in Louisiana or something.”

  “Then why are you keeping them? Why not money?”

  The key to lying is to mix in a little truth. “I’m small fry, Nash. I’m human. I shouldn’t even know about the pack, or vampires, or any of it. Instead, I find myself in the know in one of the most popular areas for supernaturals on the east coast. Now, I provide the community a much needed service. But I’m still fragile. All it takes is one pissed off patient. Y’all don’t exactly sue, you know? The teeth are my insurance.”

  Focusing on getting my tray ready, I let that sink in. It’s true that I’m human in an inhuman community. A community that, while mostly self-moderated, could turn volatile at the drop of a hat. Keeping a lock of hair or a fingernail would give a practiced witch or warlock some base control over a being. But for someone like me, with barely any magic skill at all? It has to be bones. Fortunately for Nash, bone-magic is strictly forbidden by the entire supernatural community. No one likes the thought of their essence escaping or their persons being controlled, so if a bone witch or warlock is discovered?

  They get snuffed out fast.

  As we’re talking, I get an idea and grab two forceps and two spare scalpel blades from my toolbox. On my desk is a soldering iron. Ingrid likes to play around with arduinos sometimes and we share the desk. She’s got some silver solder. It’s a sloppy job, but I attach the silver scalpel blades to the forceps.

  “Look, I’ve never done magic with a patient’s bones. Not once. It’s a deposit you pay. You don’t even have to pay it each time. Just if there’s an extraction. I keep the removed parts. Like I said, if Alec doesn’t like it, he can come talk to me. And, again, not trying to be pushy, but there’s the whole you probably dying while shifting thing, so you’re kind of out of options. Better to ask forgiveness than be six feet under, am I right?”

  Nash nods, resigned. Death is a better motivator than any flimsy excuse I could use.

  It wouldn’t be so bad if I held onto the teeth. I mean, other than having a creepy jar filled with them, I don’t have a lot of use for them. You could, though. You know what you can do...

  This part of me needs to shut the hell up. A brief memory of the one and only time I’ve seen Uncle Oliver fly off the handle sends a shiver down my spine. That time I did something I now know is unforgivable: I used a bone and did some pretty major magic. It ended in a lot of pain and an enormous debt. So it’s better to just keep thinking “I don’t have use for teeth” because no use is better than screwed-up use. That’s something I can’t afford to worry about anymore. For now, I need to focus on yanking teeth from Nash in a quick and preferably non-violent manner.

  We get set up like we did last night. This time, though, I use a talisman my uncle created for me. It bolsters my magical power for about ten minutes. It’s a bit of a one-shot deal, though, so I need to not waste it. Climbing into position, Nash is prepared this time and there isn’t the awkward pressure behind me. Instead, I use two cheek retractors, stretching his mouth uncomfortably wide.

  Having done this once before, I’m feeling a little mo
re confident. He can totally keep it together. But just to make sure I get the teeth I need, I’ve decided to try and pull them both at once. This might go down as one of my lesser good ideas, but it is nowhere near the worst.

  The worst was probably grabbing a summoning book off my uncle’s bookshelf when I was eighteen.

  “Okay, Nash. Remember, don’t shift.”

  His eyes widen but he nods. I toe the sigil on the chair, whisper the word to invoke the talisman, and push not just one, but the two modified forceps into his mouth. Angling my hands, I slice the back gums open then shift to grip the now exposed teeth. His howl fills the room, so loud that it vibrates through my bones. Nash’s chest is expanding between my legs, his waist thinning and elongating. His hips buck against me, struggling to flip his body into a position that allows it to shift to all four paws.

  I have to grip the very ends of the forceps to avoid getting scratched by the fangs that are quickly pushing through angry red gums. Wiggling my fists, I tune out his grunts and howls. My vision is tunneled into Nash’s mouth. My focus is on those two molars.

  You. Will. Be. Mine!

  With a final grunt and heave, I feel them give and I topple off, teeth gripped soundly in the forceps. A scalpel blade nicked him in the fall and Nash’s eyes are yellow with fury. He gnashes his bloody mouth at me and the best thing I can do now is move out of his sightline.

  Tiptoeing away without breaking eye contact, I make it to the doorway of the room. My heart’s beating so hard it hurts and I’m sure his half-shifted ears hear the sound of scared prey. It’s not going to help him fight the shift, but running would make things a hundred times worse.

  More than the fear, though, is the rush of triumph. The blood is whooshing in my ears, and something in my chest releases, signaling that I’m more stressed than I realized about Tee’s impending visit.

  Before I can feel too relieved, there’s a knock at the front door. A glance at my watch and I see it’s nine-thirty. Record extraction time, if I do say so myself. Too early for Ingrid, too late for anyone else. Tee doesn’t exactly knock.

  If I’m lucky, it’s another client. If I can get a last-minute tooth addition—

  I put the molars in the pocket of my scrubs. Stripping the now-bloody latex gloves off my hands, I rush as whoever is outside knocks with louder insistence.

  “Hold on,” I snap. “Give a girl a minute!”

  I open the door and the crisp night autumn air hits my thin scrubs. That’s not what shocks me, though. Nope.

  It’s Sheriff Tight-Pants Murray.

  “Um, hi, Abe.”

  My porch lamp makes his skin look yellow and shadowed and his blue eyes almost black. It’s been a long day for him, too. But he wears fatigue better than me, because the purple under his eyes and five o’clock shadow that’s now threatening to just be a beard are hot. Manly.

  “Sadie Salt, what the hell is going on?”

  It’s disorienting to see him on my porch right now. He’s the world I left behind and wish desperately I could return to. But after eight P.M., when the sun goes down and the supernaturals come out, I forget all about that dream, my worlds separate. Yet here he is and, I’m beginning to register, I’m not giving off a great impression.

  My hands smooth my scrub top, only to feel the flecks of damp. A quick check and—yep, I’m covered in blood. Not drenched in a Carrie way or anything. Just good and flecked, with some spittle to boot.

  “Well, it’s hard to explain.” I have a werewolf in my back room who’s fifty percent shifted and a hundred percent pissed off at me. “What are you doing here?” Despite knowing it was absurd to even think it, a small part of me started wishing that maybe this was the follow-up to his ‘cute’ comment. That Abe had been spending all day in his car, trying to come up with an excuse to ask me out.

  “Ms. Nickles called in a noise complaint.”

  Nope. No date request. Instead, it’s just my nosy old neighbor, Ms. Nickles. I felt a tickle in my thoughts and heard Ingrid’s voice telling me that Ms. Nickles had been inquiring about my nighttime activities. She’s one of those sit-at-the-window-with-binoculars type neighbors because aren’t I the luckiest.

  And now she’s called the sheriff because of Nash’s howls.

  “I’m tutoring?”

  Just then, Nash’s moans pierced the awkward pause. Part of me is relieved, because it is mostly human sounding. But the groaning noises he’s making sound far from innocent and definitely not like tutoring. Abe’s eyebrow shoots up and he tries to peek over my shoulder. “Is that Nash?”

  “Maybe...?” Don’t say maybe, idiot! He knows it’s him because you told him this morning. “Just, well, uh—”

  “He sounds hurt, and um, Salty? You look a little shady here. Maybe I should come in.” Dozens of scenarios flash through my brain, but all of them result in the same thing: Abe Murray, love of my life (even if he’ll never know it), discovers that the creatures from fiction are real, I’m an unlicensed dentist for the monsters in the dark, and by the way, don’t tell anyone because the supernaturals really value their privacy. There’s no good ending to him checking my place out.

  “You can’t come in.” This earns me a big ol’ frown and I’d be pouty if I wasn’t also at risk of a full-fledged panic attack. My chest is screaming at me and my fists open and close, trying to divert my energy away from the fear.

  “Why the hell not, Sadie? I’ve got Ms. Nickles raving about you bringing in random strangers at night all the time, Nash Kincaid, a minor, in your home sounding worse for the wear, and you’re wearing scrubs covered in blood. What am I supposed to think?”

  That I’m just a nice girl who made a mistake a long time ago and am trying to fix it now. That ignorance is bliss, so please, for the love of toast, go home. That we’re meant to be together and you understand that things only look bad, so you’ll trust me this time. Instead, I feel my stomach drop as it dawns on me what I have to do. “I’m sure when Ms. Nickles complained she gave you her theory. You know, about Ingrid and me?”

  Abe’s mouth becomes a thin line and scarlet races from his neck up to his cute ears. Yes, even his ears are cute, and yes, this makes me especially pathetic. It also makes what I’m about to do the stuff of seventh-level-in-hell nightmares. “She mentioned something.”

  I know what she thinks I do. What else could an old fashioned woman think when two girls live together and both work all night and mysterious people came in and out all the time? This is the South, after all. “It’s, uh, true.”

  I swallow hard to keep the bile that’s rising down. I can’t look him in the eye. All my fantasies of Abe are unraveling. I mean, I never expected anything to happen between us. But the fantasies were rich and they were real because there was no concrete reason to know they wouldn’t for certain. Now, though, I’m pouring the foundation for a lie that’s going to push him away forever. “See, it’s his birthday. Like you said this morning. So when you say he’s a minor, I just need to, uh, clarify. That’s not true anymore.”

  “Holy shit,” Abe breathes. His eyes dart back again, but with morbid curiosity making his gaze too bright and wary. “So you’re—”

  “I offer services. To people. Services that aren’t offered during daytime hours. Nate has requested such a service. It includes a costume—” I gesture to my scrubs, “—and a bit of role playing. Apparently Mr. Kincaid needed to see a, um, dentist.” My mouth tastes sour and maybe I need to just not pay Tee tonight so she can go ahead and help me die.

  “Christ, Sadie.” Then his gaze moves back to me and sure enough, looks can kill. Because he’s looking at me with this mix of disgust and surprise. I need to end this conversation soon, or I might puke on Abe’s feet. You know, the cherry on top of a shit-sunday. “That stuff’s illegal.”

  “Well, if you want to come in I can show each and every loophole I’ve examined to make sure I’m not exactly breaking the law, or, for Nash’s sake, you can take my word for it. Please take my word for it.”
>
  He wavers and I swoon a bit. Maybe it’s the swoon that softens him. “Okay. But you’ve gotta keep this down, Sadie. I... I just...” Abe doesn’t finish, though. He shoots me one last look before turning and heading down my steps.

  I shut the door and turn to press my back against it. There aren’t tears because I’m too tired and horrified. But damn, I kind of wish I could cry, because this feels like the worst moment in a John Hughes movie on acid.

  In the middle of all my self-pity, it hits me hard. It’s too quiet.

  Chapter Five

  “Nash?” Heaving myself off the floor, I begin to tread lightly toward my office. There’s no reply. Maybe he passed out from the pain. That seemed vaguely possible, but it seems like if it was going to happen, it would have happened mid-yank, not halfway into my discussion with Abe. “You okay in there?”

  Unease is crawling under my skin, itchy and uncomfortable. It’s silly to be walking slow and silent in my own apartment, yet here I am, doing just that. My breath sounds deafening in my ears and that makes it somehow worse. I just pulled two molars out—it shouldn’t be so silent.

  Get it together, Sadie. You’re just overly-sensitive because you just convinced the love of your life that you’re into some real kinky shit with borderline underage men.

  The smell hits me first. It’s a bright, coppery. Not intense, but it just smells, well, fresh. Wet. The light is off and I know I didn’t turn it off when I left, because I don’t leave patients in agony in the dark. That’s just rude. My hand flubs for the switch. As soon as I find and flip it, regret and nausea swamp in my gut.

  Nash is still manacled to the chair. I didn’t have time to release him when I went to answer the door, and he’d still been mid-shift, so I couldn’t have without risking myself and Abe. So poor Nash is still in the chair.

  His chest has been ripped wide open. The blood is spattered everywhere. The floor, the walls. I taste bile when I see it’s even on the ceiling, soaking into the textured popcorn. Stunned, I don’t move, mouth open. My mind is sluggish because Jesus, who can think when they encounter a gutted body in their rented apartment?