I found the sign for The Crooked Tooth on a building that had once been an apothecary. I used to frequent it when I first moved to town, running errands for an arthritic old Witch who warned me that I’d better watch myself if she ever got her hands on a potion-of-youth. I thought she was kidding but after the Coda I heard she’d poisoned herself with a concoction of black-market herbs in a desperate attempt to reverse the aging process.
Tar Street was empty but there was a glow in the window of the teahouse that spilled on to the sidewalk. I’d seen places like it before: tiny cafes that catered to a particular crowd of elderly gentlemen. They’d play ancient tile games all day long, consuming sweet black tea and not much else. More of a social venue than an actual business.
I knocked loudly but there was no response. The door was bolted and the light inside was dim. A handful of candles had almost burned to nothing at the back of the room. I walked the perimeter, pushing lightly against the windows, searching for movement but not finding any. The rear wall of the teahouse backed on to a narrow alley so I stepped across the cobblestones searching for an entrance.
I slid one hand along the wall while the other reached inside my jacket and pulled out my lighter. With a few flicks of my thumb, I summoned the flame.
The alley contained little of interest, just a pile of rotten-smelling garbage and a wide door that served as the storage entrance for the teahouse. I knocked loudly and got nothing but silence. The handle was locked but loose; latched on the inside.
I gave the door one hard shove with my shoulder and it gave in. The whole thing did. The doorknob came off in my hand and I stumbled into the room, landing on all fours.
It was the worst entrance I could have made if anyone was waiting for me. Luckily, I was alone. I had to be. There wasn’t a creature on the planet who could have waited around in such a face-melting stench. The smell outside wasn’t garbage; it was a gentle warning not to fall headfirst into the place unless you wanted your stomach climbing up your throat.
I covered my nose with my collar, which was like trying to hold back the ocean with pepper spray. My lighter was still burning so I moved the fire to a candle on the pricket by the door and waited till the wick took the flame.
It was a bare cement garage with packing boxes in the corner and chairs stacked beside them. Those were the only objects in the room I could identify on sight. Everything else was a mystery.
The stench was coming from a pinkish substance that had slid down one of the walls and settled in a puddle on the floor. It was a thick, oatmeal-looking goop filled with large chunks of flesh. On either side of the room were two piles of brown sand littered with scraps of cloth and metal.
I kept my shirt over my nose and ventured over to the mess, which was filled with pieces of hair and bone. I couldn’t look for long.
When I raised my head, I was surprised to see stars. There was a hole in the roof. A huge one. Half the ceiling had been smashed away. Whatever battle had gone on here, it had actually blown the roof off the storeroom.
One strong support beam remained, and there were two chains wrapped around it, right above the mysterious puddle. Lying in the liquid was a sharpened metal pole as big as a man, the purpose of which I couldn’t determine. It was polished smooth with no markings, plain steel that came to an imperfect but deadly point.
The sand was a fine brown ash, split into two separate piles. The breeze from the open door had already scattered it around the room, revealing something white and shiny buried beneath. I dipped my fingers into the soft grains and retrieved the object. A pebble? No. I held it lengthways and moved it to the light.
It was a sharp and hollow, perfectly pointed tooth.
The cops had beef with me for all kinds of reasons. In particular, they didn’t like the fact that I called them to a crime only after I’d scoured every corner of it for my own means. For once, I did the right thing and sent word to Richie straight away. He swore at me for waking him up till I told him about the scene I’d stumbled into.
“Don’t touch anything.”
“I haven’t. As soon as I realized what I’d found, I left and called you.”
“Bullshit.”
The line went dead. So much for trying to do the guy a favor.
I waited patiently on the curb for him to arrive. I’d hoped that by playing ball with the police, I would learn more than if I went treasure-hunting in the teahouse on my own. Those hopes were cut into confetti when the scaled face of Detective Simms arrived on the scene.
I preferred her in the old days when she was just an angry beat cop with a chip on her shoulder. She made detective right before the world fell apart. Being a member of the Reptilia, her heightened senses helped her solve crimes faster than any other member of the force. Now, her bright green skin was a faded brown and patches of scales had broken off, letting pale pink flesh shine through. She covered herself in a black trench coat, scarf, gloves and weathered trilby, wearing the same outfit no matter the weather. Her thin eyes glistened from the darkness like the last hot coals of a campfire. She hated me. Always had. I shouldn’t have had those cocktails.
I waited in the alley while they made their examination. Three other cops accompanied the senior officers, dutifully bagging, tagging and lagging behind. It wasn’t long before they came out into the night air to catch their breath.
Simms lurched over to me, pulled the scarf down from her mouth and held out a gloved hand.
“Tooth,” she said. I pulled the fang out of my pocket and dropped it into her palm. She lifted it up to her torch. “Vampiric. Put it with the others.”
One of the grunts dropped the tooth into a clear bag and wrote out the details on a label.
“Two dead Vamps,” mused Richie. “You think it’s a Nail Gang, Detective?”
Simms didn’t look up. “Maybe. First, we need to find out who got liquefied, and how.”
“What’s a Nail Gang?” I asked. Every cop threw me a look that was sourer than the smell inside.
“As if you don’t know,” Simms hissed, and moved away to continue her notes. Richie came and stood close enough for me to guess that he’d had fish for dinner.
“Human gangs that move through the land wiping out ex-magic folk. We’ve just started getting word about them. They believe they were mistreated in the old days and think it’s their job to give Humans their time in the sun. When the population of a species gets low enough, they strike. Try to put the last nail in the coffin.”
I could have said what I was thinking, but it wouldn’t have been worth the breath. Nobody wanted to hear how sick it made me to be part of the same race as those monsters. A Human complaining about Humans was as boring as bilge-water. It didn’t matter to anyone. No one cared. I didn’t care. A Clayfield found its way from my fingers to my teeth.
“Can you ID the Vamp?” I asked.
Simms finally looked up. “Why you interested?”
“I’m looking for one.”
“Who?”
“Can’t say.”
Her book snapped shut as her forked tongue flicked out from her lips and disappeared again.
“I don’t like you sticking your nose into our business, Fetch.”
“Come on, Simms. No need to be jealous.”
She squinted her flat face at me.