The Night Has Teeth Read Online Free PDF Page A

the
animal.
    “What kind of dog is that?” Madison asks with
something akin to disgust or possibly loathing.
    “It is a Saarlooswolfhond.” She says the word with
practiced efficiency as my eyes focus intently on the dog, whose
breed sounds suspect.
    “The only part of that word I heard was
wolf.”
    Amara confirms my fear. “Part wolf, yes.” And then
she’s leaving again, although this time she says,
“ Au
revoir .”
    “Later,” Madison says casually as Amara walks
away. Before Amara is even out the door, she’s giving me the third
degree. “Wow, so how do you know Ms. Congeniality?”
    “Um, I live with her,” I answer
truthfully.
    “You sly dog!” Josh remarks.
    She looks over at him like a Giger alien just
exploded from his mouth.
    “No, I ― no,” I reply awkwardly.
    “You’ll have to excuse Josh. You’d swear he was
raised by a pack of dogs.”
    He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and I see that
he wants to say something in response but thinks better of it.
Instead he tosses back a piece of sushi and chews it like it’s the
embodiment of his unspoken anger.
    “It’s not like that,” I assure them. “She’s, like,
my host mom or something.”
    “Whatev, player,” Madison says, swatting at the
air beside me.
    I dodge her feigned attack and wind up knocking
something onto the floor behind me.
    “You really are a klutz,” she remarks, shaking her
head.
    This time I’m certain my face reddens as I bend down
to pick up the dislodged item. It turns out to be the sketchbook
from Amara’s things. I quickly glance at the doorway but know it’s
far too late to catch up with her.
    “What’s that?” Josh asks.
    “It’s Amara’s,” I answer quietly.
    “You gonna get inked?” Madison chimes
in.
    I shake my head at the thought. “Not in this
lifetime.”
    “How many lives do you have?” she asks
sardonically.
    I figure her question is rhetorical and leave it at
that. Unanswered. One life is enough to navigate through. For now,
I’m left with a sketchbook in my hand and the guilty dilemma of
whether or not to peek before I return it to its rightful
owner.
     
     
     
    4. Know
Your Enemy
     
    O f course I look. After all, they’re just drawings, and
nobody ever died from art. Even though I sort of know what to
expect, I’m still taken by surprise. There’s not a single red rose
or pink butterfly that I assume is in the sample books of all
modern tattoo artists. Instead, as I flip through the pages, I’m
pretty sure her style is influenced heavily by irezumi tattoo ―
based on my movie knowledge of Japanese Yakuza gangsters, anyway.
The majority of the drawings are from the same period as the one I
saw at the restaurant, but others span different eras and different
empires. The soldiers, both men and women, are often paired with a
wolf of similar coloring. They’re like snapshots from when
civilizations were played out at the edge of a sword: Roman
legionnaires, Nordic Vikings, Mongolian warriors and an almost
endless list of others. The wolf is no doubt a symbol of power.
She’s talented, I’ll give her that, even if she is my stiff
competition in the social skills department.
    After school we hang out at Madison’s place and
carefully flip through the pages of the sketchbook. She lives at an
all-girl boarding house in what can only be described as a mansion.
It’s a three-storey home with twelve dorm rooms. The main floor
foyer branches off to a large eat-in kitchen, a formal dining room,
great room and a library. There’s a swimming pool, gym and rec room
downstairs. Although the building itself is a couple hundred years
old, the interior was renovated with modern sensibilities.
    “I still can’t believe you made fun of me for being posh.”
    We’re sitting in white wicker chairs out back on a
balcony that runs the full length of the façade facing the woods of
Vincennes Park.
    “Shut up! I got a scholarship,
alright?”
    “Well, aren’t you Ms. Smartypants, then?” I