by F. T. Lukens
“I understand. And you need the paper to graduate?”
“Yes.”
“Then it warrants effort, Bridger. Sometimes, as adults, we have to decide if a task is worth our full effort or if it’s something we need to complete but doesn’t have to be our best. This paper is good practice at making those decisions. Also, I have books you can borrow. You know this. You organized the library last year.”
Bridger shifted, and the leather creaked. “I mean, I just have to get it done. I have a great grade in the class right now, and one slightly not-awesome paper isn’t going to kill me.” Pavel nodded. “As for your books, I have to cite my sources.”
Pavel tented his fingers. “Ah, well, yes. Unfortunately, you cannot use the intermediary parchments or resources, but I’m sure we can find something. Does that help?”
Bridger offered a feeble smile. “Yeah. It does.”
“Okay, which next?” Pavel rubbed his hands together.
“I guess the next easiest would be prom.”
Nodding, Pavel clutched his knees and leaned forward. “I have no idea what that is, but I’m sure you’ll tell me, and then we’ll talk through a solution.”
Bridger laughed. Of course, Pavel didn’t know what prom was. He probably didn’t have it in the tiny Eastern European village he grew up in and he was notorious for being decades behind on popular culture.
“It’s an important school dance. An adolescent rite of passage.”
“Ah, well, um—”
The slam of the front door made Bridger jump. Pavel paused and frowned.
“Pasha!” Elena yelled, stomping up the stairs. “You better be here! And you better not try and hide!”
Pavel’s face drained of what little color it had, and his gaze darted around the room as if he contemplated finding a hiding space. But it was too late. Elena, a vision in tight jeans, heeled boots, and a wave of luxurious brown hair, stormed into the room.
Pavel shot to his feet. “Elena. How wonderful to see you.”
“Cut the crap. I am not pleased. Not at all.” Hands on her hips, eyes flashing amber, she stomped her foot. “Remind me again why I had to waste an entire day driving to Wexford to speak to that animal. You couldn’t send Nia or Bran?”
Clearing his throat, Pavel fidgeted with the buttons on his cuffs. “You know why.”
Elena glared as she prowled Pavel’s sitting room. She had several gashes in her shirt and bits of grass in her hair, and her jeans were ripped at the knees. Her expression was set in a hard frown, and every line of her body screamed “irritated predator.” Bridger wasn’t on her shit list currently, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to fight, flee, or freeze. As it was, he gripped the chair arms and ducked behind his knees, trying to make himself as small as possible.
“Larry is a dick!” she yelled, picking the blades of grass from her hair. “I have a date with Christine tonight, and he ruined my favorite shirt!”
The corner of Pavel’s mouth ticked up. “I thought you were on good terms.”
“He’s unpredictable. He’s an alpha male asshole.” She wiggled her fingers into the holes of her blouse, a spaghetti-strap red number that showed off her collarbone and shoulders, and Bridger should not be thinking about Elena’s shoulders. “And he owes me new clothes.”
Bridger furrowed his brow and, despite every instinct telling him otherwise, he asked a question. “Who is Larry?”
Elena whirled on him. She pointed a clawed finger at him, and he gulped. “The Michigan Dogman. And I went to talk to him about laying low because of the TV show that came here because of your boyfriend!”
“Hey! That’s not my fault. Okay, maybe indirectly it’s my fault, but I am not personally responsible for the dirt smudges on your face.”
She fumed. “I have dirt on my face?” She reached into her pocket and yanked out her compact mirror. She flipped it open. “Why didn’t you tell me I had dirt on my face, Pavel?”
“I didn’t notice.”
If glares melted things, Pavel was a bubbling puddle. Elena rummaged in her purse until she found a makeup wipe and viciously scrubbed at the mark on her jawline. “I have had it with Larry! I swear, the next time he pulls his scare-the-tourists shit, I am not going to bail his fuzzy ass out. I’m done!”
Bridger shook his head. “I’m so confused.”
“Larry is the Michigan Dogman. But he’s not a werewolf, like Elena. He can’t…” Pavel waved his hand.
“Shift,” Elena supplied. “He’s literally half-dog and half-man. He’s not quite a werewolf but not quite a beast. He’s on the wrong side of feral by a smidge. And he has a shit sense of humor.”
“And he’s one of the most documented among the active Michigan myths. There’s no doubt that Summer will travel the short distance to Wexford County to film the area.”
“And what? You got into a fight? He refused to go into hiding?” Bridger rested his chin on his knees.
Elena made a frustrated noise that turned into a growl. “Where is Nia? I need to borrow concealer.”
Bridger grimaced. “I wouldn’t. Do you know what’s in those cosmetics?” Elena whirled, eyes flashing amber, and Bridger threw up his hands and pressed back into the cushions. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
Running a hand through her hair, Elena calmed. “Sorry, Bridger. You didn’t deserve that. Usually you do, but not this time. I’m frustrated. Larry is… Larry concerns me. I might have played around on Bray Road when I was younger and had a good laugh chasing cars, but I never hurt anyone. Larry doesn’t have that boundary. He’s dangerous.”
Brow furrowed, Pavel tapped his lips. “I shouldn’t have sent you.”
Elena huffed. “And what? You’d go yourself? Or send junior here?” She gestured to Bridger, who was still curled up in the leather chair. “He’d have eaten both of you alive.”
“I have magic.”
“He has abs of steel.”
“I’m sorry, Elena,” Pavel said, deflating. He sank into the other chair. “I’m sorry.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Hey, Pasha. It’s fine. I’m blowing off steam. Yeah, we fought, and I kicked his ass. He turned tail and ran into the cornfield, so you know, no harm done.” She rested her hand on his head, smoothing his chaotic hair.
“Between Larry and Summer Lore assaulting Bridger, I didn’t think things would escalate as quickly as they have.”
Elena shoulders tensed, and her eyes narrowed. “Summer Lore did what?” Her voice went deep, and a shiver shot up Bridger’s spine. “She assaulted you?”
“Uh.” And there was that hyperarousal again, in more ways than one. “She, uh, came to my school and shoved a microphone in my face. It wasn’t, it wasn’t that bad.” Great. Way to sound one hundred percent unconvincing.
Fur rippled over Elena’s bare arms, and her expression went flat. “I’ll kill her.”
“No!” Pavel shouted at the same time Bridger said, “Seriously?”
“What?” Elena put her hands on her hips. “He’s an annoying little shit of a human but he’s a good human and a member of our family. If she so much as puts a hand on him, I swear to the moon—”
Pavel stood. “Elena, don’t worry. I’m going to handle it.”
“What are you going to do? Blush and stammer? We all know about the crush, Pasha.”
Pavel was on the verge of anger. Two bright spots of color glowed on his cheeks. His eyes glinted in the low-slung sunlight seeping through the window. His visage wavered; the young, congenial Pavel melted into someone older, harder, world-weary, but powerful all the same.
“Don’t question my loyalty to my duty and my family again, Elena.” His accent was harsh and odd syllables were stressed, which made him sound alien.
Elena bit her lip and rocked back. “Sorry, Pasha. That was out of line. You’ll take care
of it.” Effectively cowed, she pushed her hair behind her ear and dropped her gaze. “Put the magic away. You’ll scare the kid.”
Ah, so Elena was not a fan of magic angry Pavel either. Good to know.
Pavel rolled his shoulders, and the sizzle of tension in the air dissipated. He sighed. “I’ll talk with Nia and Bran and see what we can come up with to lead Summer in a different direction. Until then, stay out of her way, Bridger. And Elena,” he said, smiling softly, “I’m glad things are going well with Christine.”
“She has a sister and a brother. I’d be willing to hook you up with either one.”
Pavel shook his head. “Not right now. I have bigger problems. Such as helping Bridger with a paper topic and prom.”
Elena smiled, feral and beautiful, and Bridger’s heart lurched. Traitor. “Ah, high school. Such woes,” she said.
“Can it, Scooby.”
“You could write your paper on Elena. She is the Beast of Bray Road.”
Bridger shook his head while Elena gave Pavel a betrayed look with hand resting delicately at her throat.
“I am not a research topic, Pasha. My complexity is thesis-level work, to be sure.”
“Fine. I’m sure Elena can tell you all about Larry. Does that work?”
Bridger blinked. The Michigan Dogman. Pavel did say he was one of the more well-documented local cryptids. There would be plenty of sources. And Elena had firsthand experience. It could work, if Elena would agree. They weren’t the best of friends, though Elena did say she considered him family. Time to weaponize the puppy eyes.
“Oh, don’t do the wobbly lip, big-eyed thing,” Elena said, covering her face with her hands. “Put those away. I’ll do it. Just stop. You’re not cute.”
Bridger pumped his fist. “Yes!”
“I have an hour until I pick up Christine. I’ll drive you home, and you can pick my brain on the way. Deal?”
“Yes. That’s perfect.”
Elena kissed Pavel on the cheek before she whisked out of the room. Bridger scrambled to follow, grabbing his backpack and jumping from the comfort of the chair.
“Thanks, Pavel.”
“You’re welcome, though we didn’t address everything on your list.”
“It’s okay. Like you said, one crisis at a time.”
Pavel’s expression went soft and fond. He patted Bridger hard on the back as he left. “Just remember, I’m on your side. And together we’ll handle whatever is thrown at us.”
His throat tight with gratitude, Bridger gave Pavel a sharp nod, then followed Elena down the stairs.
Elena drove a speedy red car and barely paid attention to traffic laws. Her reflexes were incredibly fast, so he wasn’t too worried about wrecking, and he bet she could get out of any ticket by either batting her eyes or growling. As she whipped around turns, she told Bridger all about Larry, and he scribbled down notes and focused on his notebook and not the fact that they ran yet another stop sign.
“Piece of advice,” Elena said, “make sure to write in half-truths.”
“Half-truths?” Bridger asked. “Like bullshit it?”
“Sort of,” Elena said with a shrug. “Like I know that Larry hates lights in his eyes because it fucks with his perception. First thought, that would be a great way to scare off the Michigan Dogman if you’re ever in his presence, right? Except, it just makes him blind with rage. Really pisses him off. So shining headlights or a flashlight on him is a bad move.”
“Huh. Good to know.”
“And loud noises. Most dogs hate loud noises. Thunder and fireworks. But again, just pisses Larry off. Don’t honk your horn unless you want your tires slashed and your engine ripped out.”
Bridger gulped then wrote it down.
“Oh, and Larry positively hates Thursdays. Don’t ask me why; I have no idea. It’s just a thing of his. It’s, like, the best day to catch him out and about because he has to bleed off the restless energy, but also the worst, because he’s an irritable fuckwit.”
“Well, some people can’t get the hang of Thursdays.”
She shot him a glare. “Don’t make excuses for him. He ripped my shirt, and I’m angry.”
Bridger raised his hands in surrender. “By the way, this information is awesome. Thanks so much.”
“You’re welcome. Remember, Larry is not discreet. His sightings are all online. Most folklorists liken him to a werewolf, but he’s not. He’s a dick.”
Bridger snickered. “So you said. Um, so half-truth. He’s a werewolf cousin but more like the black dog lore.”
Elena tapped her nose. “Now you got it.”
“Hey, so, what should I do if I ever meet Larry?”
“Hmmm. Well, do what Pavel says. But run.”
“I’m not going to outrun the Dogman.”
“You might.” She shrugged. “He’s bipedal, so at least you’d have a chance. You might be able to talk to him, but if there’s thunder and he’s been blinded and it’s Thursday, just run and pray to whatever deity you hold dear that Pavel is nearby.” She slammed on her brakes in front of Bridger’s house, and his seatbelt snapped tight across his chest. “Now, skedaddle, human. I don’t have time for you.”
Bridger rolled his eyes. He opened the door. “You know, I get why you and Pavel are best friends. And I’m glad you’re there for him.”
Her expression softened infinitesimally. “He’s a mess, but I love him. You’re a mess. Now get out! Before your teen-boy hormones stink up my car.” She jerked her chin toward Leo’s house, then sniffed and made a face. “It’s impossible to get out of the upholstery.”
“Harder than wet dog?”
She growled, and Bridger scrambled out, only getting tangled in the seatbelt for a second. He congratulated himself for not tripping and landing on the curb.
“Later, Rin Tin Tin.”
“Hey, Bridge,” she said, rolling down her window and easing from the curb. “Find new jokes.” She left in a squeal of tires and a plume of smoke.
Bridger cracked a smile, then crossed his tiny lawn to the door. He dug into his bag for his keys and let himself inside, kicking off his shoes as he went.
“Mom?”
“In the living room.”
Bridger entered the room and stood behind the couch where his mom was stretched out, with her head pillowed on the sofa arm and an ancient, crocheted blanket draped over her legs.
“Leo is coming over to do homework in a few minutes.”
She yawned. “Okay. I’d prefer you two work in the kitchen. If you go to your room, the door stays open.”
“Yes, Mom.” He shuffled his feet. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just tired. Do you think you can handle making your own dinner? I have become one with the couch and am afraid it will take a complicated surgery to separate us.”
Bridger chuckled. “Yeah. I’m good. I’ll figure something out.” In the kitchen, Bridger dropped his bag by the chair, then popped frozen waffles into the toaster. He dug out his field guide to myths and dropped it on the table with his notebook so he could draft an outline for the paper. He ate his waffles while compiling Internet sources on his phone.
Thirty minutes later, a knock on the door interrupted Bridger’s progress on his paper. His mom was asleep on the couch, so, holding his breath, he crept past and peeked through the window. He hoped it wasn’t Summer. He wouldn’t put it past her to find his address.
It wasn’t, thank whatever deity was listening, and he swung open the door. Leo stood on the front steps, holding a single rose. He blushed and ducked his head; his eyelashes swept across his cheeks. “Hey,” he said, voice low and rough.
“Hey.” Bridger leaned against the door frame, trying to act cool, but failing. His palms slicked with sweat, and his pulse thundered, because Leo looked flushed and adorable. “What’s going on?”
/> Leo cleared his throat and thrust the flower at Bridger. “I know it’s not an epic promposal. You know I can’t sing. And I know you are not a fan of attention. But I wanted to do something at least a little special.” He shuffled his feet on the doormat. “Will you go to prom with me?”
Taking the rose, Bridger was going to combust from affection. “Yes. Yes of course, you romantic nerd.” Leo wilted at Bridger’s answer until he was slumped in the doorway. “What? Did you think I was going to say no?”
Leo shrugged. “No? Maybe? I don’t know. You’re not the only one who gets nervous.”
“Come here,” Bridger grabbed a handful of Leo’s shirt and tugged him close. “You have no reason to be nervous. I’m ready for prom. I’m ready for you to be prom king and for me to be the guy that gets to dance with the prom king and kiss the prom king and probably spill food on the prom king’s shirt. I’m totally here for matching tuxes and riding in a limo and holding hands while we eat dinner. We’ll dance and drink punch and make out and take pictures with Astrid and Luke. It’ll be awesome.”
“Now who’s the romantic,” Leo knocked his nose against Bridger’s. “That was probably the sweetest thing you’ve said to me yet.”
“Really? I suck.”
Leo laughed and closed the scant distance between them. They kissed on Bridger’s front porch, in sight of the whole neighborhood, in the fading spring sunlight, with Bridger clutching a rose in one hand and the other cupping the back of Leo’s neck. He wouldn’t have dreamed of kissing his boyfriend in public six months ago. How far he’d come.
Leo, always the bastion of self-control between the two of them, was the first to break away. He pressed a chaste kiss to Bridger’s cheek, then stepped around him to enter the house. “I’ve got a ton of homework.”
Bridger let the back of his head thump on the doorframe. He took a steadying breath. “Yeah, me too.”
“Also, was that Elena earlier?” Leo asked, shoulder knocking into Bridger’s as he spread his books on the kitchen table. “Not that I was watching from our window or anything.” He tugged out a copy of the school paper and tossed it on the pile. Their picture smiled up at Bridger, and his cheeks flushed.
