Tooth and Nail

by Jennifer Safrey

  “I just talked to Svein this morning,” Jason told me. “He said you were all set, and we could put you on shift tonight.”

  I closed my eyes and jammed my back teeth together. I would not get angry. Angry meant big wings. I would accept. I would accept and not fight.

  I accepted—barely—that Svein, in retaliation for not hearing from me, had put me on assignment with no training, setting me up to look like an idiot in front of Root agents.

  “Gemma?” Jason asked. “Is there something you need?”

  Svein wanted to play games, fine. I would tell Avery I was going to the gym, and instead I’d find a coffee shop, settle in with the training binder—there was bound to be some sort of Quick Start guide in there—and cram. Then tonight, sometime after midnight, I’d head on out, cross the river, and grab a tooth.

  What I would not do was call Svein and ask for help. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction. Let him see how well I could handle this on my own.

  I accepted my destiny. For tonight.

  And I accepted that tomorrow, Svein and I would have words. Mostly my words.

  “No,” I told Jason. “I’m good.”

  I disconnected and pressed a few buttons again, returning to the screen with the address. I squinted at it. Virginia Avenue. Wait, I knew where that was …

  Oh, for crying out loud.

  I closed my eyes and bumped my forehead against the wall once, twice. I cursed Svein for his twisted sense of humor in doing this to me, and I cursed myself for insisting on following through.

  Breathe. Accept the reality.

  Here was the reality: In order to retrieve a newly exfoliated tooth, I was going to have to do a little breaking and entering.

  Into Watergate.

  CHAPTER 9

  Foggy Bottom was an interesting and silly name for the D.C. neighborhood, but I wished it was more literal. A thick, watery, dense fog dropping over the city would have been the perfect night cover for me.

  Instead, I found myself in the courtyard on a clear, starlit night, straddling my bicycle, staring up at one of the buildings in the Watergate complex. I was positive that the secretary of state was watching me from a bedroom window while sipping a nightcap.

  I had read as much of the manual as I could today in my very limited time alone. I’d convinced Avery that he might want to catch up on work, what with spending the last two days and nights in bed, and he had retreated into his home office for a short while. I’d slipped into the bathroom, locked the door and read what I could for about an hour. I was never a fast reader, so what I read probably amounted to only about twenty percent of the information, and what I committed to memory was far less than that. I had tried to absorb a small portion of each chapter to get a workable mental outline of the job ahead of me, but when I set out on my bike to cross the Potomac, I knew I was flying blind.

  No faerie pun intended. Fae pun.

  There was one sentence I did remember, because it was hard to forget. For your first collection, you’ll probably be a bit nervous. No, really? A bit nervous? Standing in shadows outside Watergate East with a jacket pocket full of makeshift lockpicking implements, I was way beyond nervous and almost into terrified.

  Almost. Because uncontrolled fear would pull out my wings in two seconds flat. And if a stranger lurking around private property didn’t arouse any suspicion, a stranger lurking around shirtless with a giant pair of glittery wings would no doubt give a casual passerby a coronary.

  As for lurking, I decided now it wasn’t the best approach. Yes, it was 1:30 in the morning and yes, I didn’t live here, but any random resident out with his dog didn’t know that. As far as they knew, I had every right to be here. I could just walk into the building as if I were visiting someone. Which I was. Just without their knowledge.

  Getting into the apartment itself would be another story, but that was why I programmed Reese’s number into my Fae Phone. I knew I’d need an SOS, and it was not going to be Svein. He wanted to play games? Well, I was going to win this one.

  My gaze wandered up the side of the building. Balconies jutted out with the trademark railings that looked like, I realized with a sigh, teeth.

  Come on, you wuss, I chastised myself. Just get in there, do your thing, and get out again. Fae had been doing this forever without a problem. As far as I knew, anyway.

  Luckily for me, Avery was a sound sleeper, but I didn’t want to be gone long. I didn’t want to be here long. I didn’t want to be here at all.

  I’d managed to sneak a phone call in to my mother today, whispering to her in the bathroom that I’d accepted my destiny. She was upset—upset that I hadn’t finished our talk before I made my decision, but I told her I knew was I was getting into and I’d be fine. I left out the part about an imminent threat to the fae, and let her believe collecting was my only priority for the moment. The easy part.

  Right.

  Breathe, I said to myself sternly. Breathe and accept. Breathe and accept. Please, wings, stay folded up nicely.

  My lower lip trembled, and my shoulder blades quivered, and I had to do something.

  The Olde Way. That’s why you’re doing this.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to conjure up the vision that Frederica had given me. I couldn’t see it, but after a moment, I felt a warmth beginning in my solar plexus and extending to my heart, a glow that radiated through my limbs to my fingers and toes. It was inside me now, I realized. When I transformed, the Olde Way became a physical part of me—and I became part of the Olde Way, a piece of the puzzle that needed to fit to recreate the Olde Way on Earth. To come alive, it needed me. To stay alive, I needed it.

  I walked to the main door of Watergate East, and leaned my bike against the building. Assured and calm, I went inside.

  My sneakers squeaked as I walked, and when I looked down, I noticed the watery, icicle-like black and gray design on the marble floor. It was pretty, and a little bit magical, and I took it as a sign that I was going to be okay.

  But I heard a throat clear, and I slowly turned my head to find a large, wooden, marble-topped desk. A reception desk.

  A manned reception desk.

  Security man. He was sitting down, so it was hard to gauge his height, but his circumference was substantial. His glasses were oversized and a bit crooked. He was around my age. In front of him was a refillable cup that I’d have to use two hands to lift. I had no idea what it was filled with but I couldn’t imagine liking any beverage so much that I would drink that much of it in one day. If it was anything containing caffeine, he might give me a run for my money.

  “Hi,” I said, and attempted a casual stroll past him, as if he had no reason at all to question my presence. Clearly, he didn’t agree.

  “Who are you here to see?” he asked.

  “Ninth floor,” I said, though after only six words out of him, I knew that wouldn’t be enough.

  “Which resident?” he asked.

  I did not read a section in the manual about how to get past a security guard. What would it have said?

  Then, I realized, it wouldn’t have said anything at all. The manual was written for fae who were fully cognizant of their abilities. It would be assumed that they would know how to use them in a situation like this.

  And so did I.

  I half-smiled. Slowly. As if caught between amusement and attraction.

  He blinked.

  “Listen,” I said, ambling over to his desk and leaning over him. I tucked my hair behind my ear. “I’m surprising my friend upstairs. I don’t want him to know I’m here.” My voice, my words, were honey. “You don’t mind if I just slip into the elevator, do you?”

  He licked his lips. His eyes were magnified about eighty times with the glasses, and they were glazed over. “Uh-huh,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I said, walking past his desk.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “See you later!”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I had to go down a glass hallway to get
to an elevator and, feeling as though I was being watched from all sides, I pressed the button again and again until the elevator doors opened and I was snug inside. I studied my reflection while I ascended. My hair was in fifty directions from riding my bike from Court House to here. Faced with myself in ratty brown hoodie, tattered sweatpants and worn-down Velcro-ed sneakers, I could only marvel once again at what a little fae glamour could do.

  I emerged at the upper floor, checked the number on the nearest apartment, turned right, and headed down the curved, carpeted hallway until I found the apartment I wanted on my left.

  I stood there, unmoving, in front of the door. A sweet scent like glazed doughnuts oozed into the hall. There was no light coming from under the door, but I had no way of being sure that one half of the parental unit in this apartment wasn’t in a back room, watching TV or reading a book. I stuffed my hands inside my hoodie pockets, fingering the “tools” I’d gathered together before stealing away—a screwdriver, a credit card, and a bunch of paper clips and safety pins. I hadn’t had time to browse the Internet for novice lockpicking advice, but I’d seen enough heist movies in my life to figure I could just jam different things in there and something should work.

  But the moment I grasped the doorknob, it would be breaking and entering. I might have been half-fae, but the half-human me was still obliged to obey the law.

  Laughter floated from around the corner, and I dashed ahead to the stairwell and pushed in. I sat on a top step, pulled out my phone, and speed-dialed Reese.

  She answered immediately. “Yes?”

  “It’s Gemma,” I said, lowering my voice because it echoed all around me. “I’m about to break into a Watergate apartment and thought maybe you could help me out with that.”

  “What time is it?” she asked, and I could hear her blankets rustle. The late hour had tempered her perkiness, and I realized I was disappointed. That perkiness would have given me a little more confidence, but she was more on the perplexed side. “Why are you on the collection schedule tonight? Are you done with training?”

  “It seems,” I said, grimacing, “that I made a real impression on my so-called mentor.”

  She sighed. “Okay. Did you read the manual?”

  “Yes,” I said, then, “no. Well, some.”

  If she was passing judgment on me, she wasn’t doing it out loud, and I appreciated it. “Are you in the building?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’m in. I made it to the apartment, and I was getting ready to pick the lock when I heard someone and I ducked into the stairwell.”

  “Pick the lock?” she shrieked. “You picked the lock?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Gemma. Do. Not. Pick. Any. Locks.”

  “How the hell else am I supposed to get in?”

  “You have fae abilities now.”

  “And?”

  “Why hasn’t Svein told you anything?”

  “I kind of haven’t gotten around to starting our training. I know about the wings. And the glamour—which worked, by the way.”

  “It always does.” I heard a smile in her voice, and it reassured me. Somewhat. “Listen to me,” she said. “You can walk right in. Right through the wall.”

  “What?”

  “Just think about it, and do it.”

  “How do I know no one’s awake in there? It smelled like doughnuts. Maybe someone’s in the kitchen baking.”

  “That’s not doughnuts. You smell the tooth. It’s the essence inside. The innocence smells sweet to us. The scent will be stronger when you get inside, so just follow your nose so you won’t have to search the whole place for the tooth.”

  “But…”

  “Gemma,” she said. “You don’t have time for me to explain the physiology of it all. I’m just telling you the information you need to do the collection. Stand outside the apartment door. Close your eyes. You should be able to detect humans inside as dark shadows. If they’re moving, they’re awake. If not, go in. Intend to go in and keep up the intention the entire time you’re inside.”

  She cleared her throat. “You’re kind of rearranging your molecules to get in, and if you keep it up, your appearance will retain a blinking effect. So if a human sees you, it will startle them, but then they’ll believe it was only a trick of the light. Which of course doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get out of there fast if someone does see you.”

  My breathing grew shallow, and Reese heard it.

  “Go,” she said. “Do it now. Don’t be scared. You’re one of us, and you’re one of them. That makes you the safest of all.”

  I didn’t know whether I believed her, but I decided I had to.

  “Do it for me,” she said, that cheerfulness returning to her voice. “You’re my hero.”

  “No,” I told her, “you’re mine, believe me.”

  “Go.”

  “One more thing,” I said. “Don’t tell Svein I called you tonight. Please.”

  She laughed. “Understood,” she said. “But Svein’s never thrown anyone in the field like this. Even trainees who’ve really pissed him off. He knows you can do it.”

  I doubted that very much, but this was hardly the time to assess Svein’s motives.

  I disconnected and stood, but when I tried to leave the stairwell, I found the door had locked. Either I’d have to run all the way downstairs and come back up via elevator, or…

  I intended. I will walk through this door. No, I will just walk. There’s no obstacle here.

  I stepped into the door and out the other side.

  It didn’t even hurt. One would think my cells splitting and reassembling in a fraction of a second would render me unconscious, but no.

  I squinted into the hallway ahead, searching for anyone who might report me as a loiterer but, finding no one, I returned to the apartment. I stared at the door and inhaled a noseful of the sticky-sweet scent. I closed my eyes.

  At first, I saw nothing but the usual streaky light patterns that I assume all normal people see on the backs of their eyelids. But then, smoky shadows began to take shape, outlined in black. Two together, pulsating but not moving in any direction. A couple in bed? And one smaller shadow, unmoving, alone. That was the child, I decided, with one tooth less than this morning.

  As sure as I was ever going to be—meaning totally and completely unsure—I opened my eyes, intended, and stepped through the door into a living room straight out of Home and Garden. Or what I thought the pages of Home and Garden looked like—the closest I had ever come to the magazine was staring at the cover in a doctor’s waiting room.

  I held my breath and waited one minute, two. No one screamed or burst out wielding a golf club. I relaxed my shoulders an inch. Keep up the intention, Reese had instructed me. I am invisible, I thought. I am invisible. I raised my hand and it looked, well, there. I wiggled my fingers in front of my face, and that was when I noticed they appeared kind of dreamy and formless.

  A deep cough emanated from another room and I almost jumped out of my now-transparent skin. I froze my fingers along with the rest of me, but I heard nothing further.

  In, I told myself. I’m in. Now, find the tooth.

  I did remember this part from the manual: You can usually locate the tooth in one of three locations: Underneath the child’s pillow if the parents haven’t exchanged it out yet, in a nearby trash can, or in some sort of keepsake box belonging to a sentimental parent. Leave an appropriately sized decoy enamel replacement from the kit provided by your local Root.

  Unwilling to stick my hand under a pillow, and hoping to hell that I didn’t have to rummage through a woman’s belongings, the trash can was my obvious first choice, so I tiptoed into the kitchen and poked around. The room was high-shine chrome, and there was no trash can to be seen. I opened a few bottom cabinets, willing none of them to squeak, and found the can under the sink. I rolled it out, wrinkled my nose, and hovered close to the open can for a perfunctory search.

  Someone had macaroni and cheese for dinner, and didn�
�t finish it. I supposed it was the kid, because I remember from my own childhood days that tooth loss meant an empty, sore gap in my gums, requiring a mushy dinner.

  But the doughnut smell was less prevalent here, and I eliminated the kitchen trash as the location. I shoved it back into the cabinet and slid it closed, slowly and silently. Then, heart pounding and shoulder blades twitching, I crept down the hall.

  Breathe and accept. Keep intending. Keep sniffing. Keep moving.

  The bathroom was next. I crept into a dark corner and lifted the wastebasket, which was completely empty. I replaced it and caught a glimpse of the mirror over the sink—not a glimpse of my reflection, because there was none. I removed my hoodie—interestingly, my clothes blinked with me—and tied it around my waist. The T-shirt underneath allowed me better movement.

  Unsettled by my lack of physicality but definitely more confident I wouldn’t be seen, I continued down the hall. Through a half-open door, I peered into the next room, the master bedroom. I wasn’t going in there, I decided. That would be my absolute last resort. A woman’s thin, bare arm hung over the side of the bed. I backed away and kept moving.

  On the next door across the hall, a crayoned sign ordered me to “Keep Out!” Unfortunately for both myself and the small occupant, I was going to have to ignore that directive. I took a breath, intended, and passed through the door.

  Posters plastered on the walls depicted baseball heroes and cartoon characters. The low placement of the posters and their crooked edges suggested the decorator was the sleeping boy in the bed. He was sprawled on his side in the sort of unusual contortion that kids eventually grew out of. He wore only one sock, and one side of his dark hair was sticking up and out.

  I stood there for a few precious minutes, and it wasn’t because of any sudden maternal instincts, believe me. I just didn’t want to approach this kid’s bed and betray the trust he undoubtedly nurtured that his parents were the only adults with access to his room. I didn’t want to wake him, but I didn’t want to do this without his knowledge either.