“You missed dinner,” she said, folding the paper with care and setting it aside. “There was soup waiting for you after the treatment yesterday.”
“Wasn’t supposed to eat for a few hours.” He shrugged, then addedaround a bite, “I fell asleep.”
She chuckled, the sound catching a little in her throat. But before she could say more, Deena swept in—composed as ever, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her amusement.
“He has to go back again, you know,” she said, leaning in to kiss Maisie’s cheek.
Maisie tipped her head into the touch. Deena’s hand found hers and gave it a quiet, grounding squeeze. It was a ritual they never spoke of but always kept.
“Why?” Maisie asked, glancing between the two of them, curiosity pricking at her.
Deena only arched both brows and reached for the teapot. A non-answer.
Maisie crossed the room and bent toward John. He didn’t protest—just opened his mouth with the air of someone used to being examined, or perhaps too tired to resist.
She leaned in. “Hmm.” Then stepped back. “Very good. He’s going to make gold cast inlays for the larger cavities.”
John squinted up at her. “Why do you know so much about teeth?”
Before she could answer, Deena beat her to it. “Our father was a dentist,” she said, casually, pouring her tea. “She worked in the practice. I played outside.”
“You grew up with a dentist? That’s vile!” John wrinkled his nose.
“The most renowned in Vienna,” Maisie added with pride. But her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She pressed her lips together, an old habit.
John didn’t notice. “Did this one do good work on me then?”
“Very good,” Maisie said, though her eyes flicked quickly to Deena and back again. “Did you stay with him the entire time?”
Deena set her teacup down with a small clink. “Yes. Just as you instructed.”
“And does it feel very smooth?” she asked John, her voice easy, casual almost—but the way she watched him was not.
“What?” he said, nearly sputtering his milk.
Maisie didn’t press further. She only watched. Closely. No flinching between bites. No grimace when he swallowed hot toast, chased by cold milk. The discomfort he used to show at meals was—gone. As if it had never been.Very good work indeed.
“Deena,” Maisie said suddenly, her tone sharper now, “did anything strike you as unusual while you were there?”
“No,” Deena replied, sipping her tea. “The tiny hammer was annoying, but I hummed a song to tune it out.”
“A song?” John said. “It was like bees buzzing in my ears!”
“So when did he say you must return?” Maisie asked.
John seemed to feel for his teeth with his tongue as he spoke, his words muffled as if still chewing. “In a day. To insert another piece of gold. He explained it—something about wax and casting—Deena’s humming distracted me.”
“Yes, yes, a gold cast inlay?” Maisie asked, the question escaping more sharply than intended. Her hand tightened on the table. The other hovered mid-air, fingers trembling just enough to catch Deena’s eye.
That technique. Rare. Precise. Passed down by only one man.
Her father.
And Faivish had learned it from him.
But so had others. Too many others.
This probably doesn’t mean anything.
