by F. T. Lukens
“Yeah. She helped me with my mythology paper.”
“That was uncharacteristically kind of her.”
“Right? I’d say she’s warming up to me, but it was mostly Pavel’s doing. Though she did threaten to kill someone for me, so step in right direction?”
“Your life is weird.”
“Tell me about it.”
They settled in and worked, Bridger’s foot snug against Leo’s under the table. Leo’s kiss lingered on Bridger’s lips. Bridger shot Leo a besotted smile and touched the skin-warmed medal under his shirt. The knot of anxiety in his gut unraveled with every scratch of Leo’s pencil on his paper. This tumultuous week of highs and lows at least ended on an upswing.
Chapter 9
Bridger had seen his share of teen movies. If asked, he’d blame Astrid and her love of romcoms, but, if pressed, like when Astrid pinned his arm behind his back and made him admit it, he actually liked romantic comedies. There was just something about a happily-ever-after that got to him. He’d much rather watch one than, say, a horror film. His life was a horror movie, and he didn’t need to be reminded of all the ways in which it could go wrong—like death, and maiming, or accidentally ending up as the killer Chuck Wendig and Sam Sykes-style.
Anyway, he knew that if his life was a teen romantic comedy, then the last few hours would be splashed on screen in an epic music montage and would take, maybe, ninety seconds. Unfortunately, that was not how real life worked, and Bridger spent his Saturday morning being dragged from one store to the next helping Astrid try on prom dresses.
If it was hell for him, he could only imagine what Astrid felt. Astrid was not the cookie-cutter girl on teen magazines. She had muscles and mass and was tall. Finding a dress was certainly close to violating the Geneva Convention on torture, and Bridger hated every minute of it for her. He only had to look through the racks and give his opinion and then sit in a plush chair while she struggled in the dressing room. Well, not true, he snuck in a few times and helped with buttons and clasps and ran back and forth to the racks to exchange sizes.
After several stores, a few tears, and one broken zipper, which Bridger pinky-swore never to talk about again, Astrid emerged from the dressing room, and Bridger jumped to his feet.
“That’s it!” He threw up his hands. “Oh, my God, that’s it, Astrid! It’s perfect.”
The dress was blue, floor length, and it sparkled. Astrid beamed as she twirled. “You think?”
“Yes!”
“Listen to your boyfriend, sweetie,” an older woman looking through the rack with her daughter said. “He’s right.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Astrid said, looking in the mirror and smoothing her hands down the sides of the dress. “He’s my best friend.”
“Damn right,” Bridger said, puffed up and warm. “BFFs. Cap and Bucky, right here.”
“’Til the end of the line.”
They high-fived, and Bridger’s hand stung because Astrid was way stronger than him. Bridger took out his phone and snapped pictures as Astrid posed and made faces. They took a selfie together and sent it to Leo who responded with a string of heart emojis.
“Okay. I’m going to get out of this, and it’ll be tux time!”
Tux time wasn’t as awful as dress shopping, and Astrid totally humored him despite the number of times he pretended to be James Bond. His British accent needed work if the store employee’s snort of laughter was any indication.
They met Leo and Luke for lunch at the restaurant attached to the mall and talked about plans and the limo and dinner. Bridger held Leo’s hand under the table and they playfully teased each other the entire time.
Sitting with his friends, talking about school drama, and baseball, and prom, and graduation was nice. It was relaxing to be a normal teenager, to not worry about myth emergencies or his dad or what his future was supposed to look like.
“Hey, so, Astrid. Do you want to go to a movie?” Luke blushed and he took a sip of his pop to hide the shaking of his hands.
Leo kicked Bridger under the table. Bridger elbowed him back, and they watched the scene unfold.
“Huh?” Astrid swiped a fry through ketchup. “Oh. Yeah. Sure. Today?”
“Yeah. There’s a showing of a that new Anne Hathaway movie in a few minutes.”
“Anne Hathaway?” Astrid said, looking up, meeting Luke’s nervous gaze. “I love Anne Hathaway.”
“I know.” His face was red. “I asked your teammates.”
“You didn’t ask Bridge?”
“Nah,” Luke said, grin wry. “He’s kind of a mess.”
Bridger spat water on the table. “Hey!”
“No lie,” Leo said, laughing. He wrapped his arm around Bridger’s shoulders. “But I wouldn’t have him any other way.”
“I take offense to all of this, by the way.”
Astrid ignored him. “But, yeah, I’d love to go to a movie, Luke.”
“Awesome.”
“Do you guys want to go?” Astrid asked. “Leo, has Bridger divulged his love of the romcom to you yet?”
Bridger buried his face in crossed arms. Leo rubbed his back.
“Yes. He has. I know all about his movie preferences. And while I don’t begrudge anyone their joy or their choices in life, I cannot in good conscience join you for an Anne Hathaway movie.”
“Bridge, your boyfriend has besmirched the Princess of Genovia. How dare he.”
Bridger lifted his head so his chin dug into his forearm. “I know. He’s not perfect. But I like him anyway.”
Luke shifted in his seat. “Wait, you like Anne Hathaway?”
“Who doesn’t? I mean, other than my dear, sweet, boyfriend. She’s gorgeous and funny.”
“Uh.” Luke tapped the table. “I thought… I mean…” His gaze darted between Bridger and Leo, and he shrugged.
Oh. Oh.
“Oh, um,” Bridger picked at a crumb on the tablecloth. “I like guys, of course. But I still like girls too. And I like folks who might not fit in a binary.” He cleared his throat. He hadn’t really said this to anyone other than Astrid, Leo, Pavel, and his mom. But practice makes things less awkward. Right? “I’m an all-of-the-above kind of person.”
“Oh,” Luke said. “That makes so much sense now.”
Bridger’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“Well, you dated Sally Goforth last year, and for a long time everyone thought you and Astrid were dating.”
“We never dated,” Astrid interrupted quickly. “Never. We kissed once. It was a bad idea.”
“Extremely bad,” Bridger agreed. “Epic fail.”
Luke wasn’t reassured, if his continued table drumming was an indication. “Okay. Anyway, I was kind of confused when you and Leo got together. Zeke wasn’t. But he never explained it to me, and I was embarrassed to ask. I hope I didn’t commit a horrible social faux pas right now by asking.”
“No, you’re cool. We’re, uh, we’re friends. I just, uh, wouldn’t ask strangers or anything.”
Luke’s shoulders fell from their hunch. “Cool. Got it.” He looked to Astrid. “So, movie?”
They paid their bill; Bridger splurged with his leftover birthday money to buy Leo’s. The group parted ways at the exit. Astrid’s dress was in a bag over her shoulder, another bag held her prom shoes. She winked at Bridger.
“I’ll text you later.”
“Enjoy your Anne Hathaway,” Bridger called as they walked away.
Leo looped his arm through Bridger’s “Come on, Juliet. I’ll drive you home.” He tucked his hand in Bridger’s pocket. “So Astrid can go on her date.”
“Oh, God, pick another nickname, please.”
Leo snorted, and, bless him, even that was attractive.
Wrapped up in each other, oblivious to everyone but them, they meandered through the mal
l to the exit near where Leo had parked his car. Once outside, they turned a corner at the back of the building, because Leo had a thing about where he parked his mother’s car. She’d never let him drive again if he brought it home scratched, and so, he always found the most obscure and vacant spots. It didn’t do much for Bridger’s constant dread because low-lit, empty parking lots were not the safest, but at least they were in broad daylight on a Saturday afternoon.
“I’m so tired of these God-forsaken Podunk towns!”
The screech brought Bridger out of his Leo-induced daze. He knew that voice. He knew it well. He stopped and threw out his arm to halt Leo.
“You can’t get a decent meal or a decent hotel. And don’t get me started on this cameraman they sent with me. It’s his first season, and he has no eye for good shots. It’s amateur hour. Oh, and these idiots they sent to me to interview. High school students. I have to coach them through the whole conversation.”
Bridger craned his neck around the corner of the building. By the dumpsters stood Summer, cell phone to her ear, vape pen in her hand. He ducked back before she could see him.
“It’s Summer,” he said to Leo in a low voice. “She’s on the phone.”
Leo’s brown eyes were wide. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate they should go around the other way to his car. But Bridger was curious. Curiosity killed the cat, but Bridger wasn’t a cat. And even the cat he owned wasn’t quite a cat. He should be in the clear.
He peeked around the corner again and saw Summer pacing; a wreath of vapor curled from between her fingers.
“Is there any word on that pilot?” She paused. “What do you mean they went with someone else? Oh, oh, I’m too old. They wanted younger. Of course.” Cursing, she paced and kicked a small trashcan, denting it with the point of her expensive shoe. “There has to be something else then. I can’t continue to do this. I can’t continue to live traveling from town to town interviewing hicks and hoping for a monster to jump out and chase me to up the ratings.”
Yeah, Bridger agreed. He could live without that too.
She made a disgusted noise at the back of her throat. “Well, find something! You’re my agent, aren’t you?” She tugged on a strand of her hair. “Yeah, well, I don’t care if you can’t make something appear. I make stories out of nothing every week. You can at least find me a script to read.”
She pushed her hand through her hair. “This is all your fault, you know. Take the job, you said. You won’t be typecast. It’s a good jumpstart. Well, here I am ten seasons later doing the same damn thing.” She paused and huffed. “No, no, at least it is somewhat interesting. There’s this kid here that… I don’t know… He’s peculiar. Obviously knows more than what he’s letting on. I just have to find a way to get him to crack.”
Scowling, Bridger took a step to confront her, because uncool. Leo yanked him back and shook his head. Bridger allowed Leo to drag him away, but Bridger didn’t put up much of a fight. They circled around the whole mall to Leo’s car, and Bridger brooded the entire drive home.
“You’re not going to do anything impulsive are you?” Leo asked, forehead wrinkled, lips turned down at the corners.
“Of course not. I’m staying out of it. I promised Pavel.”
“Okay. Good.” He flashed Bridger a smile. “Because I like you a lot and I want you to be safe.”
“I like you too. A lot.” He squeezed Leo’s hand. “And I will be safe as possible. Cross my heart.”
Bridger had made a resolution to cut down on lying, especially to the people most important to him. He’d done a great job since the fall and he really wasn’t trying to lie, but the untruth of his statement churned in his stomach, right alongside the burger he’d had for lunch and the feeling that no matter how he’d try to stay away from this mess, it was inevitable that he’d be sucked in anyway.
* * *
The rest of Bridger’s weekend was spent writing his paper and teasing Astrid about her date with Luke. Between texts, he plugged away researching the sightings of the Dogman and how it related to local folklore and folkloric themes in general. He followed Elena’s advice and kept some facts purposefully vague. He had a solid outline by Sunday night, with a partial draft. It wasn’t due until the last week of classes, but since prom was next weekend, he wanted to have a good start.
With Summer’s words echoing in his head and her general disregard for boundaries, Bridger took extra precautions. After school on Monday, Astrid drove her car to the front of the school while Bridger hid in the locker room. It wasn’t his best moment, to be sure, but he wasn’t about to risk running into Summer, not after his last meeting with Pavel, not when she threatened both Astrid and Leo, not with Elena pissed off and with her claws out, not with Pavel’s magic crackling at his fingertips until the air was thick with it. No. Bridger was not about to be responsible for another myth incident. So he hid and waited for Astrid to text him the all clear.
The text came quickly, but it wasn’t from Astrid. It was his dad.
Dinner, tomorrow?
Ugh. In the chaos of everything, Bridger had shoved the fact that his dad was around to the back of his mind. The dad situation was like having a pebble in his shoe while facing down a rampaging wildebeest—annoying, but not what needed his attention. He’d deal with the pebble after climbing a tree, or whatever was the best way to avoid being trampled by a wildebeest. Bridger had missed a Jeopardy question about wildebeest recently, and now, after doing a bit of research—reading Wikipedia articles—his brain was stuck in a loop of wildebeest hell. He was aware that researching wildebeest was a waste of time, because when would he ever need knowledge of wildebeest? Also, how many times could he think the word wildebeest before it lost meaning? Wildebeest.
He swiped the text away. Another followed. This one from Astrid.
All clear. Out front.
Head down, hood up, hands in pockets, Bridger walked briskly down the front steps of the school and got into Astrid’s car.
“You okay?” she asked, pulling away.
“Great,” he muttered.
She slapped his knee. “Cheer up, emu. I’m taking you to visit with your favorite lady.”
Relaxing into the seat, he fiddled with the dials of Astrid’s radio. “True.”
It was a Grandma Alice day. Bridger loved Grandma Alice.
The first time they’d met, she’d scared Bridger down to his marrow. She’d seen through him in a way no one had and she’d yanked out his faults, examined them, and called him on each one. It had been terrifying. It didn’t help that she was also the oldest person Bridger had ever seen. She had paper-thin skin, stringy white hair, and wrinkles so deep they could hide secrets and raisins. She slid down to the precipice of the uncanny valley, danced along the edge, and tipped her toe in just for giggles.
Despite the creepy appearance and her frightening perceptive abilities, she was the nicest apothecary Bridger had ever met. Well, okay, she was the only apothecary he’d ever met, but that didn’t change the fact that Grandma Alice was a kind human being, if she was human. Bridger wasn’t sure. He was less sure after seeing her chasing Summer Lore through the woods.
Since their first meeting, Grandma Alice had doted on Bridger. She smiled at him. She made him cookies. She knitted him mittens out of something that wasn’t yarn but was incredibly warm and soft. Again, Bridger had learned not to ask questions.
Astrid screeched into the tiny parking lot. “Text me when you’re done, and I’ll swing back around and pick you up.”
“You sure you don’t want to come in?”
“Ha!” Astrid tapped her steering wheel. “No thanks. She’s my hard limit. You live it up with the lizard eyes and toad jelly. I’ll be at the comic book store.”
“You’re missing out, but if she gives me cookies, I’ll save you one.”
“Nope. Who knows what she puts in tho
se? There could be, like, cockroach jelly.”
“You’re stuck on jelly today.”
Astrid shoved his arm. “Get out. I’ll see you in a bit.”
He shot her a cocky grin and hopped out of her car. Bridger’s spirits were high when he entered the shop. He was grateful that his duties for Pavel meant a visit to Grandma Alice every other week. Usually it was to obtain ingredients for Nia and Bran for their potions and whatnot, and occasionally things that Pavel needed for intermediary purposes. However, all orders had to be called in by Pavel, because Grandma Alice despised the pixies. She adored Pavel, however, and found him handsome and charming. If there was one thing Bridger had learned in the months since he’d been Pavel’s assistant—other than that being polite in the myth world was of paramount importance to not being disemboweled—was that weirdness clumped together. Strange liked stranger and so on and so forth. He wondered what that said about him.
“Grandma Alice,” Bridger called as he stepped inside the small shop. Sandwiched between two industrial buildings, the apothecary was so old, seemingly the town had sprung up around it. The inside was entirely made of wood, and the floor and the counter were smooth from wear. The natural fibers had absorbed the pungent smell of herbs and dried plants and a myriad of other things Grandma Alice sold, so the store had a scent all its own, comparable to nothing Bridger had experienced, except maybe the dried flowers pressed into old books he’d found in Pavel’s library.
Shuffling into view, Grandma Alice’s bent form appeared behind the counter. She carried a crate filled to the brim with glass bottles that Bridger dared not look at too closely.
“Hello, dear,” she said, her voice a scrape. “How are you today?” If Pavel was old, Grandma Alice was ancient. She was primordial in appearance: her skin spotted with age, her violet eyes clouded with memories and time, her waist-length white hair stringy and thin. But she was power. Magic bled off her in waves and tingled over Bridger’s skin in a terrifying mix of light and shadow that brought him peace and petrified him in equal measure.
