by F. T. Lukens
“Attractive.”
“Very.”
“Hey, so any idea where the girls are?” Astrid said, gesturing at the empty seats on her left. “Or why there is a piano set up at the front of the room?”
Bridger’s eyes widened. Oh. Oh! He sat up straight.
“Hey,” he said, giving her a wide grin. “Remember that you love me and just roll with it.”
She paled. “Bridge? What’s going on?”
The cafeteria went quiet when several of Astrid’s teammates strode in from the side door to the front of the room, holding signs. Luke followed them and sat at the piano. He cracked his knuckles, then began to play. The familiar strains of Can’t Help Falling In Love filled the room.
“Bridger,” Astrid said, voice a breath, eyes fixed on her teammates swaying with the music. “What the hell is happening?”
And wow. Luke was brave. He was so brave. Bridger could never. Of course, Bridger couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket; neither could Leo, but that didn’t keep him from singing along to the radio every chance he had. Luke, however, was awesome.
Once Luke hit a certain word, the girl at the head of the line flipped her poster. Astrid sucked in a breath at the sight of her name splashed across the sign. Everyone in the room turned to stare at her. Cheeks burning red, she laughed, delighted and stunned, hand over her mouth, as Luke continued to sing. On another cue, the other three girls flipped their signs to spell out Will You Go To Prom With Me?
Bridger’s smile was so big his face was going to break. For three minutes, Bridger was thrilled, filled to bursting with joy for his best friend, and proud of a guy he only knew because he’d happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time a few months ago.
Astrid stood when the song finished and met Luke in the middle of the cafeteria. He handed her a bouquet of red roses. Hands in his pockets, Luke shrugged. “Astrid, will you go to prom with me?”
Astrid nodded. “Yeah. Yes. Definitely. You’re awesome. This was awesome.”
The cafeteria burst into applause and catcalls. When Luke and Astrid hugged, Bridger, taking on the role of annoying helicopter parent, stood and took pictures on his phone. Astrid would kill him if he didn’t get at least one good shot.
“They’re so cute.”
Bridger startled, took an awkward step, and wobbled dangerously. He would’ve fallen if not for someone grabbing his arm.
“Leo?” Bridger asked, disentangling himself from his backpack and his chair.
Leo twirled a hall pass. “I had to witness it. Luke has been nervous all morning. I thought he was going to puke in first block.”
Bridger didn’t know why he did it. Maybe it was because he hadn’t seen Leo since the baseball field, or maybe he was overcome with happiness for Astrid and Luke, or maybe he really needed Leo’s warmth. Whatever the reason, he grabbed Leo in a desperate crushing hug and held on.
Leo hugged him back. “Hey. You okay?”
“I don’t know,” Bridger said. “I’m overwhelmed.”
“Was it the picture in the newspaper? Or the Elvis song? I can see how both could do it.”
Bridger laughed into Leo’s shoulder. “Both, maybe?”
“How about I come over after baseball practice? We can do homework together.”
“My mom is home tonight.”
“That’s cool. I like your mom.”
“She likes you too. You are officially mom approved.”
“Oh, don’t say that too loud. You’ll ruin my rep.”
“Your rep?” Bridger pulled away, eyebrows raised. “Do you have a secret rep I don’t know about?”
Leo placed his hands on either side of Bridger’s face and squeezed, mushing Bridger’s lips together. He smacked a kiss to Bridger’s fish face.
“None whatsoever.”
Bridger squirmed out of Leo’s grip. “Fine. A homework date. With my mother. Sounds awesome.” It did sound better than Bridger’s original plans to do homework and worry about the mess he’d made at his job.
“Good. I’ll see you tonight. Now, I have to get back to class before Mr. Stewart starts to wonder where I went.”
Leo took time for another quick embrace, then jogged away, waving at a group of people who called his name.
Bridger went back to his seat to find Lacey staring at him with a wrinkled nose and a frown. She threw down her carrot. “Ugh. I’m totally going to lose prom couple to you. And I can’t even be mad about it because you and Leo are too adorable.”
Flushing, Bridger went back to his abandoned lunch. He was without worry, just happy down to his toes. His best friend had a date for prom. He had a cute and thoughtful boyfriend. And he was going to graduate in a month.
Everything was perfect.
Until it wasn’t.
Bridger jogged down the front steps of the school with Astrid at his side chatting away about limos and dresses and corsages and everything else prom. Bridger mostly paid attention, but there was only so much room in his awareness and most of it was focused on the homework he had for the night and on Leo. He had yet to pick a topic for his folklore paper, and his teacher was on his case because he had yet to turn in any research. He didn’t have space in his brain for sequins and flowers.
Hood up and hands in his pockets, he turned the corner toward the parking lot and completely missed the warning from Astrid. Suddenly, a microphone was shoved into his face.
“How did the bakery poltergeist know your name?” Summer blindsided him.
Bridger jerked to a stop or he would’ve eaten the mic. As it was, it smacked his cheek.
“Hey! What the—”
“And does it only speak to you or will it speak to others? Why does it use flour to communicate and why did it pick the bakery? Does it have something to do with Meadow’s affinity for horror movies?” Summer assaulted him with rapid-fire questions. She was so close her perfume made him lightheaded, and the scratchy fabric of her suit dress brushed over his skin.
Expression expectant, lips bright red, makeup flawless, she angled the microphone toward him.
Bridger managed an eloquent response. “What?”
“You almost drowned at Lighthouse Beach in front of a dozen witnesses and when you emerged you were covered in bloody scratches. What pulled you under? What gave you those gashes? Did it have claws or teeth or both?”
She waved the mic in his face. Crowding forward, Summer forced Bridger to take unsteady steps back. Astrid grabbed his arm to keep him from falling, but Summer pushed forward, politely aggressive. This was a side of her Bridger hadn’t seen in the episodes he’d watched, not even in the first season when she was interested in the topics. This was a step in a new and terrifying direction.
“I don’t—”
“Is it true you were at the football practice when the large animal appeared and terrorized your classmates? Did you see it as well? Did you have a hand in calling it to that location?”
Matt aimed the camera at Bridger; the lens was uncomfortably close.
“Ever heard of a zoom?” Astrid shoved the camera aside and yanked on Bridger’s arm, spurring him into a walk. He stumbled and attempted to sidle around Summer.
Matt swung the camera around, trained it on Bridger’s pale face, and somehow matched his stride despite walking backward.
Summer also kept up pace. “Can you talk to other beasts and cryptids? Are you responsible for the events that occurred in the fall of last year?”
Bridger ducked his head. Pulse racing, he broke into a jog. Astrid grabbed his hand and squeezed. She met his plaintive gaze, and with a nod of her head, they ran.
Summer followed as best as she could in her heels, yelling questions at Bridger’s back, while Matt dogged their steps, camera trained on their retreat.
“This is Bridger Whitt,” Summer said into the camera. “Local s
upernatural magnet. Is he just a kid caught up in the strangeness that has affected Midden, Michigan, since autumn or is he part of the problem? Viewers, I promise an answer to that question and more when we investigate this town. And if Bridger won’t talk to us, maybe his best friend or his boyfriend will be willing to give us the scoop.”
Bridger skidded to a stop at the door of Astrid’s car. Fear and fury lanced through him. He turned on his heel and, despite being a second away from the safety of Astrid’s car, he abandoned it and stalked forward. He pointed a finger in Summer’s direction.
“Don’t you dare. You stay away from them.”
She smirked. “Hit a nerve, did I?” She crossed her arms; her manicured nails drummed against her biceps. “I promise to leave them alone if you tell me everything you know.”
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Bridger dropped his hand and grasped the Saint Dymphna medal hidden beneath his shirt. “There is nothing to tell.”
“Bullshit.” She cocked her head. “Did you think I wouldn’t put it together? I studied journalism. I can investigate. Come on, Bridger. Spill your secrets.”
“Bridger, get in the car!”
Bridger balled his hands into fists. He didn’t know what to do or what to say. But Astrid and Leo were off limits, and he wasn’t going to allow Summer to screw up Astrid’s senior year or Leo’s baseball scholarship.
Formulating a response in his head, he bit his lip, but didn’t get a chance to come up with a retort. A massive, black owl descended from a nearby tree and landed on the hood of Astrid’s car. Squawking, it spread its wings and fluffed its feathers. Its claws scraping along the metal sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard, then it screeched like a fisher cat. Bridger’s hair stood on end and he clapped his palms over his ears while Summer scrambled away.
Not one to ever make a graceful exit, Bridger threw himself into the car. Astrid revved the engine. With another cry, the owl took flight to land on a branch of a tree near Matt’s van.
Slamming the car into reverse, Astrid sped through the parking lot. When they passed Summer, Bridger clenched his jaw and flicked her off.
“Mature,” Astrid said. “But not unwarranted.”
It said something about Bridger’s life that they were not freaking out about the giant owl that interrupted his conversation with the intrusive reporter. Bridger checked the mirrors, until he was certain they weren’t being followed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, tapping his foot on the floor. His leg shook. “I’m really sorry.”
“For what? For her? Screw her.” She took a turn at an ill-advised speed. “I had a cute boy ask me to prom by singing to me. Singing! And he gave me flowers! And enlisted my friends! That is way more important than a nosy, typecast, investigative-reporter wannabe.”
Bridger sank into the seat. “You are absolutely right.”
Astrid flicked her gaze to Bridger. “What?”
“Your awesome promposal is what we should be focusing on. And how we’re doing prom. We’re obviously going to dinner together and riding in the same limo. Should we color-coordinate?”
Astrid’s smile was blinding. “Definitely. Would Leo be into it?”
“Oh, yeah. Haven’t you noticed his wardrobe? He’s loves fashion. His jeans cost more than my entire outfit including shoes.”
Astrid’s laugh was giddy and breathless, a release of adrenaline. Bridger echoed it, though he kept his arms wrapped around his middle because his nerves were raw and on edge.
“This weekend, you and me, dress shopping and tux fitting. And fun. We’re going to have fun, damn it.” She gripped the steering wheel. “We’ll invite Leo and Luke for lunch and plan dinner and limo rides and all that. It’ll be awesome.” She glanced at Bridger. “It will be awesome.”
Sure. Awesome. Maybe if she said it enough times it would come true.
“I won’t let any of this ruin your prom,” Bridger said, seriously. “I promise.”
Astrid reached across the gear shift and took his hand. “I know. And I won’t let any of this ruin the rest of your senior year.”
Bridger’s mouth went dry. He was unsure that Astrid had the power to change the trajectory of this semester, but he appreciated the sentiment.
Chapter 8
Astrid dropped Bridger off a few houses down from Pavel’s, not that it would help. Anyone who saw Pavel’s house immediately knew it was used for eerie purposes. It towered over the other houses on the street and was a masterpiece of various architectural styles pieced together in a frankly odd conglomeration. When Bridger had first seen it several months ago, he’d considered peacing out before even trying to find the blue door. Luckily, he’d mustered a semblance of resolve and climbed a lattice and a drainpipe to get inside. It was simultaneously the bravest and dumbest thing he’d done. His life has ratcheted up since then. And his repertoire of brave and questionable actions has expanded more than he could have imagined.
But he’d met a sasquatch so, it all came out in the wash.
The house had a magic security system. Once someone was admitted over the threshold and then exited through the front door, they could come and go as they pleased. Bridger had entered through the blue door, strategically placed at the highest point on the back of the house. This was the rule. Only if they were a myth or magic themselves could they omit the daring feats of acrobatics. The front door’s magic could detect their supernatural aura and would open for them, allowing them access to Pavel and the safety of his magic and of the building. That was how Leo had bounded through the door like an over-eager puppy much to Bridger’s and Pavel’s surprise.
As Bridger approached, the front door opened, and he walked across the threshold. The familiar tingle of the house’s magic buzzed over his skin. His anxiety about being followed sloughed off. There was no way Summer and Matt could shadow him here. It was a haven, and he breathed unhindered for the first time since he’d heard his name on the EVP recorder.
“Hey, Mindy.” Bridger waved as he headed up the stairs to the second floor. She didn’t respond, and he didn’t have the wherewithal to snipe with her. He also didn’t count the dwindling number of bobbleheads, though another of the standouts, a dolphin with a sign that read “thanks for all the fish,” was missing.
He climbed the stairs at the speed of a sloth. The adrenaline that had kept him buoyed receded with each step, so that all that remained was a headache pounding in his temples and a body that felt like a collection of haphazardly assembled bone and muscle. He oozed into Pavel’s study and collapsed into his favorite leather chair.
Pavel popped his head around the trim of the kitchen doorway. “Bridger? Are you all right?”
“No,” he answered, petulant. “Far from it.”
“I’ll make tea.”
Tea was Pavel’s standard response to all emergencies. Sick? Have some tea. Existential crisis? How about tea. Drowned by mermaids? Tea with honey.
Bridger squeezed his eyes shut and didn’t open them again until minutes later when he heard the rattle of a cup on a saucer.
“What’s happened?”
Bridger took a sip of his scalding tea. “Where are the pixies?”
“Out. What’s wrong, Bridger? Your assigned toaster rang yesterday, then stopped abruptly. It rang again today, and before I could run for the portal, it ceased again.”
“You’ve assigned a toaster to me?”
“Of course. I spelled it after the mess in the fall. You’re my assistant. I want to ensure your safety. That’s one of the reasons I gave Midnight Marvel to you.”
“She’s great, by the way. She sleeps with me every night. Honestly, the best kitten.”
“She’s not merely a kitten.”
“I know.”
Pavel rubbed his chin. “Do you?”
“Well, I mean, you told me she’s not really a kitten. Is there something
I’m missing?”
“Anyway, what’s happened?” Pavel deflected. Bridger was familiar with the move. But he didn’t press him on it then, because, well, there were bigger issues.
He took a breath, opened his mouth, and it all spilled out, punctuated with flails of his arms and a few tears. He told Pavel everything: his dad showing up for his birthday, Ginny threatening to push someone in the oven, Summer hearing his name on the EVP, Summer showing up at his school, the dog, the owl, graduation, Leo, Astrid, his guilt about Luke and his scars, and his inability to pick a topic for his mythology paper. He spoke in a torrent of words, a gush of anxiety and fear and, funnily enough, elation that Astrid was asked to prom, and that Leo was still his boyfriend despite how needy and fragile Bridger felt.
Pavel took it all in, sipping his tea, and didn’t interrupt but allowed Bridger to fill the space with his insecurities and worries and stress and small joys. When Bridger, chest heaving, face wet with tears, ran out of words and collapsed in the chair, Pavel put his teacup on the table between them.
“What would you like from me, Bridger? How can I help you?”
Reason seventy-five why Pavel was the best: he didn’t offer advice; he didn’t have the need to hear himself talk. He asked first, and Bridger appreciated Pavel’s patience and understanding. Maybe it came from living for over a century or maybe it was Pavel’s quiet nature. Whichever, Bridger could’ve hugged him.
He scrubbed the sleeve of his hoodie over his face. “I don’t know.”
“We’ll start small. Talk to me about this paper you’re avoiding.”
Bridger pulled his feet into the chair, his knees bent, his arms wrapped around his shins. “It should be easy, but I guess I’m putting it off because it’s one more step toward graduation. If I don’t do it, then I fail and don’t graduate, and I guess that doesn’t sound so bad right now. Also, I don’t want to accidentally put in information that I shouldn’t, if you get my drift. I’ve already screwed up enough in that arena.”
