Worry flickered in Florence’s soul. She heard the whisper of Death every night before bed, and every morning when she woke up alive, she mentally gave him the finger. But when he finally came for her, she would yield gracefully. She’d had a long life, much longer than most of the people she loved. But this girl—she was too young for Death to steal. If there was a chance of helping her—
Florence took one step forward.
The dog’s tense body exploded, rocketing toward her, a silent and deadly missile. Florence stumbled back with a whimper, her wrinkled hands stretched out to meet the oncoming jaws.
A dark figure whisked in front of her. An arm snaked around her waist, preventing her from toppling over backward—the person’s other arm whipped out, hand spread wide.
The dog jerked in midair, its body twisting. It half-landed, half-collapsed in the strip of grass by the fence.
The hand that had stopped it bore marks—multiple tattoos on every finger. Tattoos were not something Florence approved of. A momentary flash of indignation rushed through her, and she struggled against the arm around her waist.
“Stay,” said the person holding her—a young man. She couldn’t tell if he was speaking to her or to the dog, but both of them stopped moving.
He turned to look at Florence, still circling her with his arm.
She knew what he saw, a wrinkled woman of nearly a century, with a creaky sagging body and bleary eyes. But when he looked at her and smiled, she was suddenly the girl of decades ago. The girl who loved gardens and beautiful clothes, who used to go to the movies for a quarter and delighted in the reddest of scarlet lipsticks and danced to big band jazz with bright-eyed boys. That girl still lived inside her, and she woke up and brightened at the young man’s touch.
Words floated in her head—gross, sick, wrong—things people would think of her if they knew she wanted to kiss this boy. Well, nother, exactly—her past self. Her beautiful lost self, the carefree dancer and lover of music. Was it wrong to wish she could rewind the years and relive those days? Wrong to wonder what the green-eyed boy’s mouth tasted like?
“Florence, my sweet, you should be more careful.” He released her, but kept a hand on her shoulder. “This dog is dangerous. You’re lucky I happened to look in on you.”
“Look in?” She smoothed the front of her dress with shaking hands.
“Why, yes.” The young man pulled a string of objects from his pocket.
Florence peered at them. Ivory colored, with a familiar shape.
Teeth.
“I’m your dentist, Florence. Don’t you remember?” He touched one of the teeth in his palm. “This one is yours.”
Florence felt around in her mouth with her tongue. She’d lost a few teeth. Surely she would remember giving one to this boy.
“You’re too young to be a dentist,” she said brusquely. “And you sure aren’t mine. I go to Dr. Racklin.”
“You did, yes. But your caregiver Nancy brought you to see me last week for an abscess.” He smiled again, as if they were sharing a secret. “And now the molar I took from you connects my mind to yours.”
Florence eyed him suspiciously. “I don’t like you, boy. You have lies between your teeth.”
The black dog half-rose with a growl. Another flick of the dentist’s tattooed hand, and the animal cowered down in the grass, glaring.
“He doesn’t like you any more than I do,” said Florence.
The young man clasped his fistful of teeth over his heart. “That hurts, Florence, it really does.”
“Well.” She bristled as his other hand moved from her shoulder to her face, pressing two fingers gently against her temple. His eyes rolled up for a second before realigning.
“The chaos has overtaken you, Florence my love,” he said. “I can’t remove it all, but I could pull it back for you. Would you like that?”
“What do you mean?” she snapped. “You talk nonsense, boy.”
Laughter lit his eyes. “This is why I like you. The honesty, the fire. You’re worth more than anyone realizes, Florence. You are the watcher in waiting, the ambassador poised at the line between Before and After. A channel for chaos. And you’ll give it to me—the darkness in your mind. I’ll drink it, and you will be free. But only if you agree.”
Something frantic and eager surged in Florence’s heart.
You’re worth more than anyone realizes.
You will be free.