Kai Moreno knew the tooth was ready because it turned whenever he pressed it with his tongue.
It was the lower canine on his left side, and it had been bothering him through dinner. Every bite made it lean into the empty space beside it. His father had offered to pull it with a piece of floss. Kai had refused on the grounds that Mateo Moreno was a licensed electrician, not a licensed dentist.
Now Kai stood over the bathroom sink, gripping the tooth through a folded washcloth.
"One clean pull," he told his reflection. "No drama."
He pulled.
The tooth came free. A bright point of pain flashed through his gum and vanished. Kai examined the tiny white thing in his palm.
"Acceptable," he said.
His father appeared in the doorway with his work bag over one shoulder. "Did the patient survive?"
Kai showed him the tooth.
"Excellent. Put it under your pillow."
"I'm ten."
"The Tooth Fairy doesn't discriminate by age."
"The Tooth Fairy is you. Your wallet is on the kitchen counter. I can see the five-dollar bill sticking out."
Mateo glanced toward the stairs. "You have damaged the mystery."
"The mystery was poorly secured."
His father laughed and checked the time. He worked nights when construction crews needed power shut down in empty buildings. Tonight's job was at a hospital wing scheduled for demolition.
"I should be home around six," Mateo said. "Lock the door behind me. Call if you need anything."
"Including emergency tooth replacement?"
"Especially that."
Kai followed him downstairs, locked the door, and watched his father's truck leave the driveway. The house became quiet. The refrigerator ran in the kitchen. Pipes shifted behind the walls. A branch moved across the siding beside the living-room window.
Kai carried the tooth upstairs in a plastic sandwich bag. He had no intention of putting it under his pillow. He set it on his desk beside a jar of foreign coins and turned on his reading lamp.
At 22:18, he went to bed.
At 02:43, something cold touched his cheek.
Kai opened his eyes.
The room was dark except for narrow bars of moonlight across the floor. His desk chair faced the wrong direction. The closet door stood open a few inches.
An envelope rested on his pillow.
It was made from thick silver paper and sealed with dark red wax. The seal carried the impression of a human molar.
Kai sat up and checked the desk.
The sandwich bag was empty.
He looked at the envelope again.
"No," he whispered.
The envelope remained where it was.
Kai picked it up by one corner. The paper was cold. Inside, he found a gold coin and a folded document.
The coin landed in his palm before he understood that the envelope had been angled downward.
It felt warm.
The document opened by itself.
RECEIPT OF EXCHANGE
One deciduous canine received from Kai A. Moreno.
One gold crown accepted as payment.
The accepting party grants THE COLLECTOR the right to remove one additional tooth each night until the scheduled collection is complete.
Pain shall be limited. Memory of extraction is not guaranteed.
Payment may not be discarded, hidden, destroyed, exchanged, or surrendered to another human party.
Noncompliance may result in accelerated collection.
At the bottom of the page, Kai's name appeared in red ink.
He had not signed it.
The letters moved while he watched. Each stroke thickened, settled, and became an exact copy of his handwriting.
Kai dropped the paper.
The closet door opened another inch.
End of this online sample.