Chapter 1
Florence | Edinburgh, present day
The blood-curdling scream is so loud it makes my molars tingle. I’ve been slouching in a plastic bucket chair, but my spine straightens at the noise, half expecting the receptionist to sprint down the corridor and exclaim, ‘What the hell was that?’
As to what’s taking place behind the door, I have no ready answer. Murder most foul? I’ve heard a lot of screams in my life, and that one sounded particularly painful.
When no one comes running, I figure the receptionist mustn’t be bothered, or she’s gone home. Either way, I’m trapped out here listening to whatever’s going on in there. Another ragged screech makes me almost jump out of my skin. It trails off into a bubbling gurgle.
Jesus!
I’m starting to think my clever idea of booking the last appointment of the day to get my teeth checked wasn’t so clever after all. Maybe I should ...
I rise from the chair with the intention of legging it, butthe exam room door swings open. A man stumbles out, clutching his unshaven cheek, surrounded by a miasma of stale alcohol. ‘Good luck, you’ll need it,’ he mutters and staggers off down the corridor.
‘Florence Hughes? I’m ready for you now,’ a gravelly male voice intones from inside the room.
That’s odd. I’ve been coming to this private dental practice for years. My dentist, Dr Heather Malcolm, is a lovely middle-aged woman with a gentle touch whom I like chatting to. Unless she’s had a voice transplant, this isn’t her. Has she taken on a colleague? If so, he sounds like he might be a sadist!
As I’m standing there, deliberating, a tall guy with broad shoulders appears in the doorway, he’s wearing a white coat and a blue surgical mask. His short hair is coffee-coloured with several streaks of vivid purple.An edgy young dentist, that’s a first.Though it was Halloween last week, so perhaps he went to a party ...
‘Are you Florence Hughes?’ the guy enquires, his voice muffled by the mask.
I nod, but my eyes zero in on his white coat. There’s a smear of blood on one lapel, and I can smell it. It’s been several days since I’ve had a drink, and the tantalising tangy scent teases my nose, making it difficult to concentrate.
‘Yes ... yes, I am,’ I manage to get out.
‘Please come in. Sorry to have kept you waiting.’ He steps aside, and I enter the room, pinching my nostrils shut with two fingers as I pass by so I don’t smell the blood. I’ve worked hard over the years to master my self-control, but still ...
He gestures to the dentist chair and says, ‘Take a seat. I’ll be with you in just a minute.’ His accent isn’t Scottish; it’s got a distinctly English clipped-vowel ring to it. My curiosity is piqued. I’m a sucker for a well-spoken Englishman. Don’t get me wrong—guys with Scottish accents are hot too, but only if you can understand them.
Dutifully, I hop up onto the blue vinyl chair and stretch out my legs, wondering what he was doing to his previous patient to make him scream like that. There’s no evidence of a struggle, and the small sink next to me is clean, though I can detect remnants of blood-infused spittle. My gums start prickling, and I press my lips together tightly, willing my fangs not to extend.Dammit, I should have had a mouthful at least before I came out.But our blood supply is running low, so I was being altruistic.
What’s this sadist dentist doing? He’s taking ages.Impatiently, I swivel my head and see him checking my previous X-rays on his computer—closely.
I whip back around as he rolls up next to me in his chair. He clips a paper towel around my neck.
‘So I’ll just do a routine check-up today. Your X-rays are good until your next visit—’
I interrupt his dentist spiel. ‘Where’s Dr Malcolm? I usually see her.’
His eyebrows lift slightly. ‘Dr Malcolm retired six months ago, I’m afraid.’
‘Retired?’ I repeat, a bit shocked and disappointed as I really did like her; she never asked awkward questions, and she reminded me of my Aunt Ivy. But she must’ve been older than she looked. Come to think of it, she did mention something about retiring last time I saw her ...
‘I’m Dr Damian Rhodes. Hopefully, I’m a suitable replacement?’ The corners of his greeny-hazel eyes crinkle as if he’s smiling underneath his mask, and I sense that he’s trying to put me at ease. They probably have an entire semester dedicated to chairside manner at dental school—and how to deal with people screaming blue murder. He doesn’t seem too rattled about that.
‘I’m fine with it, but I’m not sure your previous patient was,’ I say, attempting a joke.
‘Ah, yes, sorry you had to hear that. He needed a tooth pulled and didn’t want anaesthetic. He insisted that he’d taken enough whisky to numb the pain. Newsflash: he hadn’t. Things got a bit ... messy.’
‘So I see,’ I say, staring pointedly at his bloody lapel.
His eyes follow the direction of my gaze. ‘Damn, sorry. Normally, my assistant would be here to point out things like that, but she’s off sick today. I think I have a spare coat. I’ll change ...’
He starts to get up, and I sigh inwardly. ‘It’s fine. Honestly, I just want to get this over with ... I mean, it’s not a problem.’
‘OK, if you don’t mind. Thanks.’ Dr Rhodes lowers the chair until I’m flat on my back and at his mercy. He yanks his tray of dental implements closer with a rattle and selects one. ‘Not a fan of going to the dentist, Florence?’ he asks conversationally. ‘Open wide for me.’
