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

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Brush With Death

  Ware Wilkins

  Copyright © 2017 by Now and Wren Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is completely coincidental.

  cover by Yocla Designs

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  There’s a werewolf in my chair who’s about to cry and Christ, the last thing I need is a wailing wolf. He’s young and struggling to hold it together and somehow that makes it worse. It means he really is in the kind of pain he’s claiming to be in, and that means I’ve gotta do something about it. Stupid heartstrings.

  “No way, Nash. It’s too close to the full moon. I like my hands and fingers firmly attached to my body, thank you very much.” I wiggle my fingers at him to make my point.

  The keen coming from his throat melts my resolve a little more. “Sadie, please. It’s because of the moon that I need you to check this out. Something’s wrong in my jaw. When I shift the pain damn near kills me. I can’t hunt as a wolf, it hurts so bad. Do you want to be responsible for me starving to death?”

  Poor pup. His big, yellow eyes are filled with water and anguish. Lower lip is out and trembling. And damn... his jaw is swollen near his ears. Swollen is never good. Especially in a wolf, who should be able to heal quickly if the wound was clean. Probably an infection. Maybe an abscess?

  If it is an infection, and I’m praying it isn’t, it means cutting in there to scrape out infected tissue. A procedure that sucks for paranormals on the best of days. But on the days near a shift? Not good. Without anesthesia?

  Dangerous.

  “You know I can’t numb you up. You burn off the meds I use on norms too quickly. Which also means booze isn’t going to help. When I hurt you, and believe me it will hurt, you’re going to shift. Big bad wolf teeth, tiny human hands. See why I’m hesitant?” That doesn’t begin to cover how I’m feeling. Panicked or terrified are better descriptors.

  A light flickers in those sad puppy eyes. “Hesitant? That’s better than a no. This chair is enchanted, right? I can smell the magic. I’ll... I’ll let you lock me down.”

  Whoa. That’s a big point in Nash’s favor. He’s on edge, his whole body trembling with pain. The way his fingers are working on the arms of the chair looks like they are elongating already, striving to turn to claws. No wolf volunteers to be chained when they’re so close to shifting. It’s risky to be locked up when they’re a wolf. It leaves them too exposed, and there’s a large black market for werewolf parts.

  He has to be feeling like shit if he’s willing to be manacled.

  You can’t afford to say ‘no’, Sadie. That’s the real issue, isn’t it? Tomorrow my loan payment is due and I’m short. Helping Nash out won’t get me all I need, but it’ll offset the negative, and that might buy me some leniency and time.

  This isn’t your typical loan payment. It’s the kind where, if I miss it or I’m too short, I take a long walk off a short pier. Or whatever the magical equivalent is. My lender, Tee, isn’t nice or understanding. In fact, she pretty much scares the pants off me. Which means I’m going to have to be willing to do something stupid, like say, examine a werewolf near the full moon. Lesser of two awfuls.

  Rubbing my face, I look around the room. We’re in my apartment. There’s three bedrooms and I use one of them as a makeshift office. I’ve done my best to make it feel like a proper dentist’s office, with white walls and worktables, not to mention the reclining chair that Nash is currently in. Not that paranormals care all that much for presentation, but since I’m a human in a non-human world, appearances matter.

  It’s not sparse, though. There’s a few chest of drawers that I use to house tools, a few lamps to help make the space brighter, and my magical dental chair and its engine in the middle of the room. The engine is part of the appliance that attaches to the chair and helps me power my drills. Not going to lie, it cost a pretty penny. Many pretty pennies. So many pretty pennies that I cringe when I’m reminded of it. But I needed the tools for the trade, and the chair and engine are essentials.

  There’s one piece of “me” in here: The poster of a kitten dangling from a tree with “Hang in there” written on it. I picked it up from a book fair when I was eight and have had it ever since. It’s tacked to the ceiling above the chair so my patients have something to look at. Knowing that the fae, werewolves, and occasional vampire who come through my doors have to spend their time getting manhandled like us norms and staring at a kitten gives me twisted delight.

  “Okay,” I relent, sighing as I grab a pair of latex gloves. My hands tremble as I snap them into place. “I’ll look. That doesn’t mean I can do anything about it, but I’ll look.”

  “Thank God,” he breathes and, for the first time since he walked in the door, he relaxes a little, sinking back into my magically modified dental chair. Moving next to him, I brush my fingers on the sigils my uncle painted and mutter the words.

  The chair slumps into action. The magic-reinforced manacles close over his wrists and ankles. There’s another sigil that would have added a collar, but Nash was cooperating and I don’t want to totally restrain him if I don’t have to.

  My office’s lights are overly-bright, the walls stark and white. Everything was chosen to look clean and sterile. Professional. After all, it was hard enough for the supernatural creatures who inhabit the small town of Grimloch to trust me, a human. Teeth and bone are valuable commodities and worth protecting.

  I know this better than most.

  The harsh light emphasizes Nash’s drawn face. A young wolf and newly turned, he doesn’t have the control that the older wolves of his pack do. But in this moment, he could’ve fooled me. Handsome in a youthful way,
his blond hair is damp and dark with sweat. The muscles in his chest and arms twitch and I wonder how angry his wolf is at him, but he remains still.

  The chair groans beneath him. It’s never liked me, probably because it’s so difficult for me to find enough magic to use it. Using magic is like pulling teeth for me—ha, ha. I should be a lot better at both of those things.

  It’s pretty embarrassing, actually, that Sadie Salt, niece of infamous warlock Oliver Salt, can barely cast a simple protection ward. The dentist part? Let’s just say I didn’t exactly go to school for this. I’m the only paranormal dentist I know of.

  Maybe the only practicing paranormal dentist in the world. I’m not sure, I sort of made the job up. Luckily for me, it turns out it was needed.

  You could cast a protection ward, easy. You know what you have to do. Ever since a very bad decision in my youth, I’ve had a devil on my shoulder. Not a literal one, though I’ve heard of a few witches who offer that particular curse for sale, but a voice in my head that remembers how good doing something bad felt. But while it gave me a ton of power, it also put my life at major risk. More risk than owing Tee, and more risk than my current predicament.

  “Lean back, open wide, and for the love of all that is holy, don’t shift,” I order. Nash’s thick lashes flutter shut. His inhale is sharp but his mouth falls wide open. When I shine my overhead light inside, I can’t see beyond the swollen gums. Damn. I’m going to have to feel around in the back. Grabbing a mouth mirror, I pull on a head lamp, turn it on, and use the mirror to press the side of Nash’s mouth out as far as I can.

  His teeth push out from his gums, sharpening, a flash before the warning growl rumbles in his throat. I yank my hand out and slide back a foot on my rolling stool. Nash’s jaws snap once, his face warping as he fights the shift. I’m sweating and my heart’s in my throat.

  When he’s back in control, he winces, ears turning red. “Sorry about that,” he murmurs. “Just wasn’t expecting it to hurt so much more than it already does.”

  I release my exhale slowly. The adrenaline that’s shooting through me makes me anxious and a bit nauseous. “It’s... it’s okay. Do you think we can continue? I have an idea of what’s happening, but I need to feel around back there to make sure. It’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch.”

  Nash’s eyes widen, but he leans back and lets his jaw drop open. Steeling myself, I turn the headlamp back on, grab my mirror, and hope like hell my suspicion was wrong. The mirror props his cheek wide again and he’s ready for it because he doesn’t move. Whew.

  Moving slowly, I push a finger in and gently brush the back lower and upper gums. A growl freezes me in place, but after two deep breaths he gives me a thumbs-up to proceed. Sliding further back, I can feel them. One, two, three... and four.

  Oh, hell. I’m right. As tempting as it would be to jerk my hand out because I’m already sweating how long it’s been in there, it would only trigger his wolf’s need to snap shut and hold tight. So instead I inch my fingers free and lean back, giving him time to recover while I try to formulate a plan.

  “So what’s going on in there?”

  “How many times have you shifted, Nash?”

  “Just the once when I first changed over.” His cheeks flush. Being a young wolf, alone in my office, it’s okay to admit this. Out in the world, where being freshly made is the same thing as promoting yourself as weak, not so great. “I’m still ‘fresh meat,’ as the pack likes to remind me. All the time.”

  My palms press into my eyes until I see spots on the lids. Nash is maybe seventeen, tops? I know he’s a senior at the local high school. He shouldn’t have been turned so young, but wolves have their own reasoning, so all I can do is grumble. “Before you were turned, I’m guessing you never had your wisdom teeth removed?”

  “Nope. But they were coming in. My mom had mentioned something about surgery a couple of months back, but I just figured—”

  “You figured that now you’re a wolf, things like wisdom teeth coming in don’t matter.”

  “Right.”

  It’s times like this that I wish I had an assistant. Someone big and fierce and immortal. That way, when it came to bad news, I’d have a wall of an assistant to hide behind after I deliver it. As it is, my practice is just me. Tiny, five-foot-two-and-some-change and a buck five, Sadie Salt. What I lack in stature I make up in... well, I don’t. I’m just a small person all around.

  “So here’s the deal, Nash.” I peel my gloves off and move to grab a toolbox from under a nearby workbench. “Your wisdom teeth are still in there. I’m guessing you have a deep horizontal impact on your bottom ones for sure, and possibly the top ones as well. I’d need an X-Ray to be sure—”

  “We can’t do X-rays,” Nash rushes, his voice tight.

  Flipping the latch, my toolbox opens with a bang. “I know, Nash. This isn’t my first time around the block. I’m pretty much the expert in supernatural dentistry.” I don’t mention that it had taken me too long to discover that X-Ray machines did a number on supernaturals. Like slow their healing and give them crippling headaches, as well as compromising their body’s defensive traits. I’d zapped a few and after they recovered from their migraines and being scared of being attacked, I’d had unhappy customers. Also, I’d had to sneak them into a local dentist’s office to ‘borrow’ the X-ray machine, and that upped my chances of being caught. No good for anyone. “Ex-pert.”

  “You’re the only one.”

  “Then you know that I know my shit, okay?” There’s a glimmer of amusement in my rapidly pounding heart when I pull the specially forged forceps from the box and Nash’s eyes go wide. The forceps look beastly and antique, but the problem with removing teeth from magical beings is their body resists it. Hard.

  Rapid healing. Great when you’ve been cut open by a knife or shot, terrible if you’ve got a decayed or impacted molar.

  I place the forceps on my tray. Next to them I add tissue scissors, a tongue and cheek retractor, and a scalpel. The scalpel is made from silver. It’ll sting more than a little, but he’s only allergic to it. The allergy helps keep the wound open, which I need if I’m going to be able to grip the teeth with the forceps. If Nash were a human, there’s a whole other group of tools needed for surgery. But anesthesia doesn’t work on werewolves, and he’ll heal before I need to put in sutures. In this case, at least, it’s easier to operate on supernaturals. Quick in and out and I don’t have to deal with needles. I can do operations like this any day, but get a needle or a shot near me and I’m all jelly-legged and in danger of passing out. Go figure.

  I move my tray next to him and put on a new pair of gloves. Under my breath I mumble the words to a barkskin spell my uncle tried to teach me. It’s supposed to make my skin tougher, harder to slice and mangle if Nash loses it on me. But I can tell just getting the chair to restrain him tapped out my limited, pathetic magic.

  “Open up, Buttercup,” I warn, faking bravery as I grab the tongue and cheek retractor.

  “Wait!” His nostrils are flared. “There’s gotta be something you can use to stop the pain!”

  “Nope. Werewolves drew the short stick. Your metabolism burns it all off. I’d just be wasting drugs. Really, those drugs don’t work on most supernaturals.”

  “What about the others? Like the fae? What do you use on them?”

  “Vampire venom.” His gaunt face goes white as my walls. “Yep, buddy. That’s a no-go for you, with the whole being deadly to you and all.” I rest a gloved hand on his chest. Beneath my fingertips his heart is pounding, quick and uneasy. “Hey. I’m just as scared as you. You’re just losing teeth. I might lose my arm.”

  “I wouldn’t do that to you,” Nash said.

  “I know you think that now.” I heave myself up onto the dental chair, straddling him in a squat. Despite his fear, despite the dangerous line between human and wolf he’s riding with the full moon so close, I felt another part of him shift underneath me. Hey, the kid is seventeen and full of wo
lfy testosterone now. That means, especially in these first few years, a hell of a lot of hormones. I ignore it, moving my body up. “I need the leverage from up here.”

  Aside from a better angle for easier tugging, I need to be connected to the chair. My uncle, Oliver, imbued the chair with all sorts of spells. Spells to make the chair tough enough to hold vampires, werewolves, fae, and zombies. That last one... I don’t help zombies with their chompers. It isn’t that I want to be prejudiced, either. But one, the undead don’t need to maintain their teeth because decomposition works faster than I can and two, it’s majorly taboo to practice necromancy. So there’s a severe shortage of walking dead and I’m not about to start complaining.

  The chair has spells for me, too. Ones I can use to calm a patient, to act as sort of a caffeine-boost to my focus, and, in this case, one to make me physically stronger. Unfortunately, my magical ineptitude means I can choose only one of these at a time. Strength it is.

  Grinding my foot on the rune Uncle Oliver embued to spread strength through my body, I give Nash one last pitying smile. Then in goes the retractor, fast, spreading out his cheek. Nash bucks under me and growls so low the hairs on my arms stand on end, but he doesn’t shift.

  “Good boy,” I say, but refrain from patting his head. It isn’t good to antagonize clients. And, young or not, this client could tear me a new one.

  Once I’m sure he isn’t going to shift, I grab the scalpel and the forceps. I put the forceps in my armpit. I’ll need to grab them fast after slicing. Some part of my mind scolds me for bad surgical practices and the risk of infection, but the other parts of my mind yell for me to shut up and get it over with.

  Scalpel in. Incision on lower left impacted molar. I slice deep, feeling the blade scrape along bone. There simply isn’t room for delicacy right now. Despite all the medical and dental innovations of the past fifty years, working on supernaturals often looks like a backwoods dental practice in the wild west.

  Nash howls. It’s loud and more wolf than man. It rattles my teeth with its force. My fight or flight instinct is demanding I get the hell away. His eyes and forearms are bulging. I can see the hair sprouting on his arms, neck and face. “Don’t you do it, Nash. I haven’t even started. Put on your big boy pants now and I’ll tell the alpha all about how tough you were.”