Free Tooth and Nail by Jennifer Safrey Page A

again, and they needed a warrior. They needed me to fight.
    I could have said no. I could have told them to flap their filmy little wings and get the hell away from me. I could resist their twinkly entreaties, no problem. I was no wimp.
    I had to make a decision, and my room had been the location of many decisions I’d made in my life. In here, I’d decided to call Tim Saporino and ask him to the prom because I knew he was too much of a lame-o to ask me first. In here, I’d decided whether to do my math homework before bed, or save it until the morning and do it in the hurry time before homeroom, with my back against the lockers and my books balanced on my knees. In here, I decided to color the sky green-blue instead of blue-green, and my silver horses soared between the clouds, close to the crayon sun, with huge feathered wings that took up half the page. I decided to draw wings even though horses didn’t really have wings. Faeries had wings. But faeries weren’t real.
    I had to make a decision, and my room was too full of memories of the me I was until this morning.
    Think , I told myself. Think rationally. Think the way you would have at work. When would I make a decision at work? When would I present my findings and make a recommendation?
    When I knew for sure that I’d covered every angle, gotten every opinion.
    I’d listened to Frederica’s plea, I’d heard Mom’s story, I’d felt the Olde Way imprint my soul. But if I was to deny my so-called destiny, then it was only fair for me to face a roomful of the people—the fae—I was saying no to.
    I dialed the phone, and no sooner had I placed it against my ear than I heard Frederica say simply, “Gemma.”
    She was wide awake. Why wouldn’t she be? After all, it only made sense that tooth fae worked night shifts, and it wasn’t even eleven o’clock.
    “So,” I asked. “You busy tonight?”
    “You know I am.” I heard her soothing smile.
    I paused, then swallowed. “Mind if I tag along?”
    “I thought you’d never ask,” she said. “But I hoped—we hoped—you would.”

CHAPTER 6
    F rom a key on a huge jangling set, Frederica let us into a side street bakery at ten minutes to midnight. It wasn’t open yet, but a gritty sugary scent lingered. The counters were wiped clean, the display cases empty.
    We went back through the kitchen, where the floor was very recently wiped clean, and stopped at the back wall.
    I thought I was looking at nothing but a wall, but Frederica nudged me a little closer until I found, at eye level, a small but intricately carved wrought iron pair of wings. Like the faerie wings in children’s books. I traced the grooves with my fingernail, and a tingle of fear—or something else?—shivered through my hand.
    Frederica stepped forward and discreetly licked the tips of her index and middle finger, then put one finger on each wing.
    Suddenly there was a door.
    That had not been there a moment before.
    I would have known I was looking at a door if the large frame and golden knob had been there. But it hadn’t . And now it was, with the iron wings square in the middle.
    I turned wide eyes at Frederica. She had to be expecting me to flip out, run through the kitchen to the front of the store, crash through the bakery window, and flee, never to be seen again. But she merely turned the knob and opened the door to wave me in.
    I’d slipped out of Mom’s house earlier tonight—well, no, I didn’t. I’d walked through the front door, trying to keep quiet not because I didn’t want her to catch me but because she might have fallen asleep. If she noticed my absence for the next couple of hours, she’d know where I was.
    Frederica and I had traveled in silence. I resisted the urge to joke that she was driving the hybrid in a hybrid, but I let it go even though I was pretty sure she would have gotten a laugh. She was content in our silence, leaving me to percolate my fresh information in my own mind. After sneaking a few