Tooth and Nail

by Jennifer Safrey

  “Anything and everything,” I said. “He said some things yesterday that …”

  “Stop right there,” Svein said, leaning across the table. “Yesterday? You went there yesterday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Before you came to see me?”

  “Yes.”

  “How come I didn’t know about this?”

  “It didn’t come up, specifically.”

  He glared.

  “It was an emergency,” I said. “I chipped my front tooth in the ring.”

  “Well,” he drawled, leaning back. His foot hit mine under the table before snaking out into the aisle again. “That was rather convenient.”

  “Wasn’t it,” I replied, matching his sarcasm.

  “I dated Riley,” my mother said, and my sarcasm melted away in a hurry as I stared at her. “It wasn’t serious,” she clarified, after taking in my expression. “It was just casual dating. To me, anyway.”

  “Mom.” I took a deep breath. “This isn’t going to be a ‘Luke, I am your father’ moment, is it? I’m not—“ I swallowed—“his daughter?”

  “No!” She actually laughed, and I was glad for it, because if she thought it was that funny even in this charged conversation, there really was no chance. But then she stopped laughing and searched my face. “You,” she said, “whether you want to hear it or not, are your father’s daughter, inside and out. I would know. As far as Riley is concerned, our relationship never got that far. We had a few dates, and that was it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She eyed the others at the table. “Sweetie, I do remember who I have and have not been intimate with.”

  “Sorry, I just meant …“

  She waved off my apology. “It’s all right. I understand why you would ask. But how is he a threat now?”

  “He’s a dentist,” I told her, “and he’s making toothpaste for kids that’s draining the essence from their teeth, so the teeth are useless and the kids are suddenly little jaded zombie adults.”

  Mom looked shocked. Then she shook her head slowly. “Why?”

  “We don’t know why,” Svein said, though I knew he was thinking of midnight fae.

  “Honestly,” my mother insisted, “it was just a handful of dates. I would have broken it off anyway, even if I hadn’t met your father.”

  In the sudden silence, I could almost hear the others mentally processing what she’d just said. I had a feeling that Svein and Frederica were hoping I would take the lead. “You broke up with Clayton for Dad?” I finally asked.

  “That’s right,” she said. “I fell away from the fae community, married your father. I think you can fill in the rest.”

  “Was he upset?” I asked. “When you broke up with him?”

  “I wouldn’t even say we broke up, because it wasn’t involved enough for that. I just told him I didn’t want to keep seeing him.” She took a deep breath. “But yes, he was upset. I remember thinking it was odd, because I’d done nothing to make him believe our relationship was serious. He told me I was making a big mistake, that he knew I was the one for him, all the kinds of things you say when you’re being dumped, I suppose. He said he loved me, which was close to preposterous, considering our short relationship. But I told him if I was making a mistake, it was mine to make. Because the moment I met your father, I realized he would become the biggest part of my life.”

  She grew quiet, and I couldn’t pretend to know what she was thinking, but I knew if I were her, I would be wondering at the surety with which I’d made that long-ago decision.

  Finally, she said, “I didn’t even think about Riley again, until after your father … left. Riley wrote me a letter, asking me to give him another chance.”

  “How did he know Dad was gone?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I wondered at the time, but things were too—well, too raw for me to care, and so I just threw the letter away.”

  “Without responding?” Svein asked.

  “That’s right.”

  She twisted her hands together until Frederica said, “Any woman would have done the same. I would have.”

  Mom looked at all of us in turn, her gaze settling finally on me. “About a year later, a package came in the mail for Gemma. You were only nine years old,” she said to me, “and there was no one I could think of who would send you a package with no return address. So I opened it.”

  She didn’t say anything for a moment. Despite my impatience for answers, I didn’t prompt her. Then she reached down into the large leather bag at her feet, pulled out a thick manila envelope and dropped it on the table.

  We all stared at it, plain and brown with one word scrawled across it: Gemma.

  “Inside here are three more envelopes,” Mom said. “They all arrived together like this. I opened them all and read them right away, then I panicked. When I left the fae community with my husband George, no one followed or us, and we had no contact with anyone other than Gemma’s grandparents, so I didn’t know how—I didn’t know why—he would care, or try to talk to my daughter.”

  “Riley,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said, and pushed the envelope toward me. It was torn open and taped back together, so I ripped through the tape and emptied the contents in front of me. Three letters, all addressed to me. The first read: Gemma, Open Now. The second read: Gemma, Open When You’re 18. The third: Gemma, Open When You’re 21.

  “I read them all,” my mother repeated, “and each of those years I was extra careful with you. When I got the letters, I practically didn’t let you out of my sight for a year, not even to your friends’ houses to play. When you were 18, I sent you to Amsterdam for that study-abroad program.”

  “Yeah,” I murmured. “I wondered why you didn’t give me much of an argument when I asked.”

  “I couldn’t lock you in the house at that age, and I trusted that you’d be supervised there, surrounded with friends and instructors. When you turned 21,” she said, “I couldn’t be your guardian. But you were old enough to handle strangers, ask questions, and physically fight someone twice your size. I knew that if Riley contacted you again, you’d tell me and I could give you these letters to explain. But you’d said nothing until now. I thought he was gone.”

  “I’m sorry you couldn’t come to us,” Frederica said.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t go to the police,” Svein added.

  “I couldn’t,” Mom said. “Not one of those letters is an overt threat. Only I could read between the lines, and how was I to explain that to humans?”

  “I’m going to read them now,” I said.

  “Yes, please,” Frederica said. “Do you want some privacy?”

  “No, stay,” I said as I tore the tape off the first letter: Gemma, Open Now.

  Dear Gemma,

  Hello. You don’t know me, but I thought perhaps you could use a new friend. I understand that you lost someone very important recently, and I think when you lose someone, it’s good to know you have a friend out there, a friend who understands you just as you are.

  My name is Riley. When I was about your age, I lost my mother. I loved her a lot. Whenever I was sad, she would tell me a story to make me feel better. Maybe a story would make you feel better now. I’ll tell you my favorite one.

  Once upon a time, there were fae. Like the faeries you read about, with wings, who were so happy living in their beautiful land, dancing and laughing and flying, where nothing was sad and everything was as it should be.

  Eventually, humans took over the Earth, and the fae lost their world. They were sad, for years and years. They tried to bring back their world, bit by tiny bit.

  One day a little girl was born. She was special, and she was different, and the fae rejoiced, because she was their golden hope.

  But her parents hid her away. They were afraid of how special she was, so they didn’t let her embrace her great future for herself. She grew up without realizing she was only living half of her true self.

  Do you kno
w who you are, Gemma? Do you know you’re a very special girl? I hope your Mom told you. You shouldn’t allow her to make you into something you aren’t, because sometimes that happens.

  Go, ask questions, learn who you are. Don’t feel alone. I’m your friend and I’m out here. Don’t open the next letter until you’re 18. Promise you won’t peek ahead. You must become what you are before you can do what needs to be done.

  Your friend,

  Riley

  I dropped the letter, then passed it to Svein and he moved close to Frederica so they could read it together.

  When they finished, I addressed my mother. “Why didn’t you give these to me the other day, when I learned I was fae?”

  “I thought—I hoped—that there was no threat, and that the fae found you and just wanted you on call, and to collect. And you know full well that if I had just handed these over to you that day, you would have followed up on them out of curiosity. You would have gone looking for trouble.”

  I opened my mouth to deny it and caught Svein’s raised eyebrow, then Frederica’s wry smile. Okay, yes, I would have.

  “Let’s interpret these letters one at a time,” Frederica suggested. “What do we get from this one? He reached out to Gemma as soon as her father left. So he knew where and what she was. Probably because he was still so in love with you,” she said to my mother. “He had a vested interest. The rest of the fae community didn’t have a reason to follow you because lots of fae choose to live as masqueraded humans, but he did, and he knew you married, and he knew you had Gemma.”

  “He tried to establish a link with you, Gemma, by telling you he lost his mother,” Svein said. “When I identified Clayton as our tooth threat, I did background checks. Clayton’s father, Carl, didn’t emerge in the active fae community until he was a widower with a school-age son. Which isn’t unusual. When a fae loses a spouse, they tend to find comfort with their fae family.”

  “I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t do that, Mom,” I said. “Maybe it would have been easier.”

  “Keeping you safe was the most important thing,” she said, but I still felt guilty by blood.

  “Who was Clayton’s mother?” I asked.

  “Clayton’s school records don’t show the mother’s name. They list Carl as the father and sole guardian.”

  “None of this explains why he cared about me in the slightest,” I said. “He had reason to hate me—however misguided that hate was—because he’d loved Mom more than she cared about him and left him for Dad. But why try to be my friend?”

  “Maybe the next letter will tell us,” Svein said, so I ripped it open and read.

  Dear Gemma,

  Do you remember me? I wrote to you when you were a little girl. I wonder if you asked your mother about what you are. I wonder if she ever gave you that letter. I wonder if you’re reading this one.

  If your mother still hasn’t told you who you are, and why you’re special, she should, because eventually the fae will come for you. You, Gemma Fae Cross, are their highest hope. They’ll want you to fight for them, and you’ll become part of their history if you die for them.

  I let part of myself die because of them, but they don’t know it.

  Humans and fae have been at silent war for all time. How could that war exist in one person? Do you feel the fight inside you—both sides battling to emerge?

  The humans have failed you from the start. Where did your father go?

  The fae will fail you too: the Olde Way is a promise they can’t bring to life for you.

  I have a better plan, one to bulldoze the impossible ideal and steal from those who stole it.

  They ripped me in half. But you can help me, and help yourself. You can still choose another destiny, and start a better and stronger world.

  Find me. I’m easy to find.

  Yours,

  Riley Clayton

  Again, I let Svein and Frederica read the letter when I was through, and I put my head in my hands.

  My mother shook her head. “I still don’t understand. When I left him, he was angry, but harmless. He was”—she shrugged at Frederica and Svein—“fae. He couldn’t intentionally hurt so much as a mosquito. How can he be doing this?”

  “The question is, why?” Svein said. “We might have figured out the how.”

  “No, you haven’t,” I told him. “He hasn’t aligned with dark fae. He’s not a demon. He’s working alone. He told me.”

  “What do you mean, he told you?” Svein asked.

  “My visit yesterday developed into a, uh, an interesting conversation.”

  “You did this on your own? Why didn’t you call me?”

  “What the hell were you going to do?” I yelled at him. The closest diner was three tables away, and she turned from her newspaper and eyed me. I glared at her until she looked away, then continued in a furiously low whisper. “You couldn’t save me. You couldn’t help me. I did this on my own because I am on my own, Svein. If you could have done anything, you would have by now, instead of sit around on your ass waiting for me to come save the day.”

  Svein took a deep breath in, but Frederica laid a claming hand on his arm. “Gemma,” she said, “what did Dr. Clayton say yesterday?”

  “He knew who I was. He knows I’m after him. He said he’d tried to get to me first. I asked him who he’s working with and he laughed in my face and said the fae were too stupid to figure him out, that he’s working alone. And he said I’m too late.”

  “Why too late?” my mother asked.

  “Because Monday night is his premiere on TV-Spree, where he’ll be selling his Smile Wide toothpaste to millions of parents of millions of children.”

  “Oh,” Frederica said, and her one word was a sigh. No one said anything for a long time.

  “So why didn’t he just kill you?” Svein asked. My mother sucked in a breath.

  “No point,” I said. “Like he said, I’m too late. Besides, he said it wasn’t between him and me, that I’m not his problem. He asked about Mom. He knew Dad left. He knows about me.” But did he really know me?

  He’d said yesterday, You can’t help who you are or where you came from any more than I can...

  “If he’s acknowledging who you are and your purpose,” Frederica said, “maybe he still wants your help? Or maybe he wants you to stop him?”

  You still have no idea just how much you and I have in common…

  “If he’s working alone,” Svein said, “then how? How could he be doing harm?”

  You and I are exactly the same…

  Then again, in the letter: They ripped me in half.

  “Because,” I said, my mouth blurting out the answer even before it fully cemented in my mind, “Riley Clayton is a half-fae.” I closed my eyes a moment, and when I opened them, the room was so much clearer, it was as if I’d put on magic glasses. I looked into Svein’s black eyes and spoke directly to him what I now knew to be the truth. “Clayton’s half-fae, half-human. Just like me.”

  CHAPTER 18

  A long, contemplative silence at the table followed my epiphany. My mother looked at her hands. Frederica gazed at a wall painting of a poppy field. Svein stared at me, so I looked out the window.

  The National Museum of Natural History was across the street, and I thought about how I hadn’t been there since I was in high school. Theoretically, it shouldn’t have changed, since the history before me hadn’t changed. But I didn’t become fae this month. I was fae all my life, and suddenly my perspective and my purpose had changed with the knowledge. If history changed so easily, shouldn’t every exhibit in the museum seem brand-new to me if I returned?

  I ate my last potato chip, staring at that museum, filled with artifacts that at one time, no one believed could exist—except for the few tenacious people who found them. I suddenly had a vision of myself in wax, with sightless eyes watching crowds of tourists and junior high field trips, molded wings spread out behind me, a placard in English and in Braille explaining my discovery. />
  Who’d be the one to put me there? Mahoney? Avery? Myself?

  “Anyone have insight to share?” I asked, in a strong effort to return to what I could control.

  Frederica interlaced her delicate fingers together. “Only that you’re probably right about Dr. Clayton.”

  “I know I am,” I said. “It’s the only explanation as to how he’s capable of doing harm. And he’s hurting both fae and humans—fae by attacking the Olde Way, and humans by robbing kids of innocence. It makes sense, right? He was spurned by a fae.” I nodded at Mom. “And he was beaten out by a human, when Dad came between them.”

  Frederica said, “But it has to be more than love gone sour. Why didn’t he kill Bethany or George Cross if it was merely personal?” She reached over and touched my mother’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she said, and held my mother’s gaze. When my mother turned her hand over to clasp Frederica’s, I realized she was forgiving Frederica not only for the harsh comment, but for searching me out and handing my destiny back to me.

  “Which brings me to my next question,” I said. “Why didn’t we know Clayton is a half-and-half? I assume the research was thorough.”

  Although I addressed everyone, the last comment was aimed at Svein and I avoided his eyes as he responded. “I didn’t look for his mother. I was looking for Clayton’s methods, not his motivation. There was no reason to believe he was anything but full fae. What I did look for, as you know, was a record of a Butterfly Room transformation, and there was none.”

  “Now we know why,” I said.

  “I didn’t even think,” he said, clearly unsettled, “that his mother could have been human.”

  “That’s how rare you are,” Frederica said to me. “So rare that Clayton’s being a half-fae wouldn’t even have occurred to Svein, or me, or any of us. There are only two other living half-fae on record. One was born three years ago in Czechoslovakia. The other is in South America, and in his lifetime, we only needed to call him in for very minor threats. He still does research for us now.”

  “Why didn’t you ask him to deal with Riley?” my mother asked.