Three days of waiting, actually, and nothing. He hasn’t stirred, let alone left his hiding place. The house just sits there, still and tense, like a coiled snake. I called the museum and confirmed Mark had been calling in sick. Great.
I feel frustrated because all my usual tools have been neutralized. I can’t teleport without a major confrontation. I also can’t tell when he’s asleep or not since he continuously leaves one light on in an upstairs bedroom. Had he actually turned it off, I could consider teleporting into his house to have a look around. That he is a shifter, I have no doubt. What kind of shifter, I just don’t know. That uncertainty is driving me to hesitate. Also, someone as guarded as him might have particularly deadly weapons at his disposal. I wouldn’t put it past him to have guns loaded with silver bullets. No, the only sure way to guarantee my safety and for a successful raid is for him to leave.
My body doesn’t get tired. My eyes don’t blur. And since I don’t sleep, I can hold a stakeout for weeks if I have to; which, depressingly, this is turning into. I don’t just want to see him leave; I want to seehowhe leaves. What he wears. What he carries. Whether he steps out as a man, or something decidedlynot.
A motion-activated camera would be pointless here. Passing dog walkers would set it off every ten minutes, not to mention bikes, cars, or hungry raccoons. Motion sensors are great when they’re close-range and controlled. But across the street? They can’t tell a dinosaur shifter from a mailman.
On the third night, Tammy appears in the living room, walking on cat feet. Not literal cat feet (though with her,anything’s possible), but the girl can sneak in with the best of them. She’s staring down at her phone, distracted, inching forward one careful step at a time, brow furrowed in concentration.
“Mom,” she says cautiously, “I know you’re buried in your thing, but… do you mind if I take off for a few hours?”
I automatically look at the time. “It’s almost 9 p.m.”
“I know, but it’s important.”
“Well, you’re eighteen and you can take care of yourself. I can’t make you do anything. But you asked if I minded. My answer is... if it’s dangerous, I want to go with you. But if it’s a Tinder date, just be safe, and don’t kill the guy if he gets a little handsy.”
She doesn’t look up from her phone or crack a grin. “Great. Can I borrow the Momvan?”
“What about your car?”
“It needs gas.”
“What makes you think I have gas?”
“Isn’t your car electric?”
“It’s half electric. Still needssomegas.”
“Don’t I pay you enough?”
“Well, I took Ant to McDonald’s today for lunch. The bill was like $70. That took up all my gas money.”
“You’re a good sister.”
“I try. But he eats me out of house and home.”
I chuckle. “Welcome to my world, kid. And what makes you think the Momvan has gas?”
“Because you’re a mom. Youalwayshave gas. You, like,haveto have gas. It’s part of your job description.”
I chuckle again. “Okay, fine, but on one condition. What’s this all about?”
She shifts the weight on her feet, hesitant to tell me. “I’ve been looking into a mystery of sorts. Didn’t want to bother you with it.”
I close the laptop halfway, giving her my full attention. I feel my eyes narrowing. “What kind of mystery?”
She hesitates some more. “You know those new stories of kids losing teeth and having all those nightmares?”
“I’ve been hearing those stories, yes. Not sure what to make of them, though.”
“They’re all over TikTok, Mom. Like, all over. Search ‘Missing Teeth’ or ‘Tooth Fairy MIA’.”
“Do I have to?”
“No, but it’s a whole thing. The story is pretty universal. Kids lose their baby teeth, put them under their pillows, but instead of receiving money, they have terrible nightmares and often wake up sick, and the teeth go missing by morning. Not even a quarter is left behind!”
“I used to buy candy bars for a quarter.”
