by F. T. Lukens
“Off on an assignment.”
“So, the babble downstairs. What was that all about?”
Pavel slurped from his own tea. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about whatever happened at school?”
“Perceptive. And yes. Positive.” Bridger squirmed in the chair; the leather creaked. “I’d actually like to know two things. One—why didn’t my mirror work when I tried to call you? And two—why did a rampaging unicorn tried to skewer me? I have bruises. I want to know why.”
“Did you ask it nicely?”
Bridger blinked. “The unicorn? Yeah, I talked to it nicely.”
“No, the mirror. Did you ask it nicely to contact me?”
Huffing out an annoyed breath, Bridger shook his head. “Let’s just assume I didn’t and move on to the unicorn question.”
Pavel nodded solemnly. “It’s not in a unicorn’s nature to venture out of the woods, and they’re not known to be violent creatures. Just as lake mermaids don’t play near the shore. And Elena doesn’t howl unless there is a full moon.”
Bridger raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying something is rotten in Denmark? That something weird is going on in an already really weird world?”
“Yes. Exactly.” Pavel crossed the room to the curtains. He flung them open to reveal a corkboard covered with newspaper articles, pictures, and a graph. A large map with pushpins stuck in various places took up one corner. There were pictures of different myths, notes in Pavel’s cramped block script, and little blurbs cut out from the complaints section of the local paper and several other papers from nearby towns.
Marveling, Bridger crossed the room. “Very serial killer of you, Pavel.”
“I thought it was the detectives who made boards to track the killers?”
“Point. You’ve been brushing up.”
“And Peter Parker is Spider-man,” Pavel said proudly.
“Welcome to last century. Now, what is this?”
“The reason I needed to hire an assistant,” Pavel said.
Bridger inched closer, gaze traveling over the mess in front of him. He pointed at a note card with Bridger drowned by mermaids written on it. “Aw, you commemorated my near-death experience. How sweet.”
Pavel ignored him. He tapped the lowest point on the graph. “About eight weeks ago, the toaster rang, and a very confused ghost appeared here.” Pavel moved and pointed to a blue thumbtack positioned about sixty miles north of town. “She didn’t know why she suddenly appeared at that moment in the middle of a crowded mall. But she had. She had been successfully haunting a bed and breakfast in Pennsylvania for the last fifty years, but, for one reason or another, she turned up here in Michigan. After a few hours, she and I got her sorted in a new spot. By the way, you might want to steer clear of the bakery on Fifth for a few years while she becomes acclimated. She likes to draw pictures in the flour.”
Bridger bit back a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind. I guess that ghosts changing their haunts isn’t a common occurrence?”
“No, not at all. They like to settle in and stay in the same place for centuries. All myths have their patterns and their cycles. It’s part of their nature.”
“Sounds boring. And so a ghost wanted to change it up a little. That doesn’t sound like a big deal.”
“Unusual, yes, but you’re right. No need for widespread panic. But two days later, the toaster rang again and I found an incubus draining half a night club here.” Pavel touched another thumbtack, a red one, southwest. “He didn’t mean to, but his urges had become uncontrollable. I had the pixies make him a potion to help.” Pavel pointed to another tack. “Harpy.” Then he pointed to another. “Fae.” And then another. “Manticore.”
Each time, the thumbtacks got closer and closer to the center of Midden.
“Troll. Werewolf. Mermaids. Unicorn.”
“The incidents are getting closer to town and closer together.”
Pavel nodded. “And more severe. As you said, a ghost moving haunts isn’t the end of the world. A unicorn running rampant in a highly populated downtown area is.”
“The end of the world?”
Hands in his pockets, Pavel studied the board. He furrowed his brow and his gaze darted from the graph to the map to the newspaper clippings. “The job that I’ve had for nearly a century is to keep the world of myth hidden from humans. I’m not the only one. There are hundreds of intermediaries around the world, all burdened with the same task. And I’m failing, Bridger.”
“Hey,” Bridger said, placing his hand on Pavel’s shoulder. “It was only a unicorn. A few mermaids. So what if someone knows that El Chupacabra is an actual thing?”
Pavel sighed. He rubbed his eyes. “You don’t understand. Can you imagine the chaos that would occur if the world at large knew about pixies? About ghosts? About heroes and legends and gods? The upheaval would be catastrophic. The spiritual, political, societal ramifications would be tremendous. And not only for humans. The myths would be hunted, persecuted, slaughtered, after surviving for so long.” He bowed his head and grimaced. “I have to determine why all the myths in my region are breaking from their normal routines, or we risk the discovery of the entire myth world.”
“Have you talked to the other intermediaries? Do they have any ideas?”
Pavel glanced away and blushed. “I talked with my mentor after the manticore. He suggested I hire an assistant to relieve part of the burden. Mindy made it happen.”
“And here I am.”
“And here you are.”
Bridger squeezed Pavel’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. I’m amazing at trivia and puzzles. This is right up my alley.”
Pavel gestured at the board. “Have at it. Maybe you’ll spot something I’ve missed. Meanwhile, I need to make Elena more aconite potion to control her howling.”
“Don’t worry,” Bridger said, rolling up his sleeves. “I’ve got this.”
Bridger was glad he had a project, a distraction to keep his brain occupied instead of spinning in circles about Astrid and Leo. He dove in with gusto and pledged to help Pavel and the myths any way that he could.
Three hours later, Bridger knew two things. One—he needed to read the guidebook. Two—he didn’t have enough information to solve the puzzle. He needed to buy a vowel. Manticores belonged in medieval bestiaries and far-flung forests on the other side of the world, not in urban Michigan, and trolls preferred natural bridges, not manmade interstates, and harpies, who were terrifying by the way, only targeted evildoers and not mild-mannered intermediaries. And don’t get him started on the complexities of mermaids.
Bridger pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I got nothing,” he said.
Nia, having returned from her mission, sat on his shoulder and patted his cheek. Her tiny hands were ice cubes against his skin.
“It’s okay. Pavel has been struggling with this for weeks. You’re not going to figure it out in one day.”
Bran hovered in Bridger’s field of vision. “You’re only human.”
“Thanks, guys.”
“Wasn’t a compliment,” Bran muttered.
Nia hissed at her brother and snuggled into Bridger’s neck.
“Go home, Bridger,” Pavel said, pulling the curtains closed. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. Mindy has your paycheck.”
Bridger pushed his body from the chair and stretched. His spine popped, and he yawned. “Does it include hazard pay?”
Pavel half-smiled. “Of course.”
Bridger chuckled. He waved to the pixies and clapped Pavel on the shoulder. He descended the stairs and stopped in the foyer. Mindy handed over his check, and he folded the envelope in half and shoved it in his pocket.
“See you, Mindy. Don’t work too hard.”
She huffed while drumming her long fingernails on the counter and went ba
ck to her computer.
Bridger shook his head, smiling, and went home.
He had totally forgotten about his promised conversation with Leo until he walked up the street and saw Leo sitting on the front stoop of his house across the street.
Bridger dropped his bag at his front door. His mom’s car was in the driveway, which comforted him, even though she could look out of the window and see what was about to go down. Bridger crossed the street and stopped on the path to Leo’s porch.
“Hey,” he said, hands in his pockets.
“Hey,” Leo echoed.
Bridger’s throat went tight, and his pulse pounded in his temples. He had worked out a little bit of what he wanted to say, but, faced with Leo’s warm smile, his mind went blank—utterly, completely void of anything coherent.
He settled for standing awkwardly and hoping the ground would swallow him. Then he remembered that there might be myths out there that could open a hole in the ground, and that train of thought derailed. Bridger scuffed his toe on the concrete.
“So,” he started.
“So,” Leo said.
Wow, this was going to be awful. Bridger needed an intermediary of his own to navigate awkward encounters with cute boys. “Want to go for a walk?”
Leo stood. “Actually, I’m kind of grounded from last night. If I so much as step off this porch, I’ll never speak to anyone again.”
“Oh, man. Brutal.” Last night. Wow, it seemed like ages ago.
“Yeah.” Leo shrugged. “But I can talk to you as long as I stay on the steps and as long as my parents don’t see you.”
Bridger snorted. “If we stay here, my mom is definitely going to notice and spy. Just so you know.”
“Parents.”
“Right? Embarrassing. You know, we could postpone until you’re more socially available?” That would be awesome. Please take what was behind door number one.
Leo ducked his head and blushed. “Well, you did kiss my cheek today, and we almost kissed last night. So I’d like to talk right now.”
Damn it. Door number two it was.
Bridger crossed the little distance between them and sat on the steps. His jeans did little in the way of protecting his butt from the cold, and he squirmed, but standing and having this conversation was an equally bad idea. He’d probably faint.
They sat on the concrete together, in the cold and the failing light. Their knees bumped, and Bridger’s heart double-thumped.
“I… uh… don’t know what to say, honestly,” Bridger said. “You start.”
“I like you. I have since the first day of school and you cracked that joke in English class. I think you’re funny. I think you’re cute. I want to go out with you.”
Leo’s blunt sincerity was addicting, and Bridger wanted to hear more. He wanted to hear everything—especially since he knew it would be the absolute truth. Leo was totally different from Bridger, and it was the best.
“That’s awesome.” Bridger shot a smile at Leo, and Leo smiled back, bright and beautiful. “I like you too. And you’re hot. Like really hot. Blazing, but… uh… you’re… the first…”
Leo’s eyebrows shot up. “The first person you’ve liked? I have it on good authority that Sally Goforth threw up in your mom’s car at junior prom.”
“Yes, she did. And I did like her until the puke. So no, not the first person. You’re the first guy. And that’s a lot to deal with right now.”
“Oh.” Leo slumped. “You’re not out?”
“You are?”
“Well, yeah. My parents know. The whole football team knows. Why do you think Zeke wanted to punch you after you backed out of our date?”
Bridger groaned. He buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t know it was supposed to be a date.”
“You didn’t know? I asked you to share popcorn at the movies. How much more date-like can it get?”
Mortified, Bridger pulled his knees to his chest and hunched forward. “I don’t have a lot of experience with any of this. I thought you wanted to be my friend.”
“Ah.” Leo nodded. “Is that what you want? Just friends?”
Bridger swallowed the lump in his throat. “I don’t know. I hadn’t planned on—” figuring this out in high school, acknowledging that he’d actually found guys attractive for a while now, confronting his own sexuality until college “—you.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” Leo nudged Bridger’s shoulder with his own.
Bridger laughed and dropped his hands. “You should. You really should.”
“I feel a ‘but’ coming.”
Bridger’s eyebrows shot up. “What? I think something got lost in translation.”
“You know,” Leo said, flailing his hands, “you like me. I like you. You’re cute. I’m cute. Everything seems fine, so this is where the ‘but we can’t date’ comes in.”
Bridger’s heart sunk. “We can’t date.”
“Why?”
“I… haven’t told anyone. Astrid knows, but that’s it. And I guess, now you. And Zeke? That’s weird. But yeah, my mom doesn’t. And no one at school knows. And I… can’t deal with that right now.” Bridger winced. “I’m not ready to be anything other than regular Bridger—under the radar nerd. Senior year is hard enough without—” Bridger waved his hands. “—all this.”
“That’s cool.” Leo said at the same time Bridger added, “I’m sorry.”
Bridger blinked. “Wait, what?”
“Everyone needs to go at their own pace with these things. And that’s fine. We’ll take it slow.”
Bridger’s brain fuzzed out, steeped in disbelief and happiness, and snapped back online when Leo took his hand so his chilled fingers laced with Bridger’s own.
“For the record, do you like guys and girls or…?”
“Guys, for me. You?”
“Both? Both. Maybe all? Like everyone? I don’t know yet.” Bridger stared at their hands. “And you’re really okay with me not… being ready to tell anyone right now?”
Leo smiled. “I’m not going to hide myself, but I’m not going to take away your right to come out as you want to. It’s a personal experience, and if you need any help or advice, I’m here.”
“You’re the best person I’ve ever met,” Bridger said, not lying, not deflecting, not even stretching the truth a little. “Easily. You’re the code of chivalry in human form.”
Leo laughed, and his blush deepened. “I don’t need a pedestal.”
“Too late. I’m building you one.” They lapsed into companionable silence, and Bridger sighed. The anxiety eased out of his shoulders, and he relaxed. Full dark set in, and the street lamps flicked on, and Bridger knew he needed to go inside soon. He had a book of myths to read. “What do you want to do now?”
“I want to go inside. It’s freezing, and I’m not used to being this cold.”
“Cold? This is nothing. Wait until the real winter gets here. But… uh… I mean about us?”
“Oh.” Leo smiled. “I’m not in a hurry. I can wait. I guess this means no dual Homecoming kings, but hey, maybe we could shoot for prom?”
Prom gave Bridger plenty of time. Prom was in May and right before graduation. Prom meant a month of gossip at school and then the summer. And if he was okay before then, that would be a bonus. “That… that sounds like a good plan.”
Leo squeezed his fingers. “Good. And I wasn’t joking about the cold. I need to go inside before I’m too frozen to play and before more time is added to my sentence.”
Bridger’s phone buzzed. “Yeah, me too. But I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” He stood and held Leo’s hand a moment longer than needed before breaking away and stepping toward the street.
Bridger didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to walk across the street and slip into the house and lie to his mom. He wante
d to stay right there and learn everything there was to learn about Leo and his family and his likes and dislikes. He wanted to kiss the mole on the right side of Leo’s jaw and wrap him up in a sweater and make sure he was warm. But reality sucked, and Bridger had responsibilities waiting for him.
“Good night, Bridger.”
“Night, Leo.”
Chapter 8
Bridger’s life fell into a strange routine.
His days were filled with school and homework and the uncomfortable space that once had been filled with Astrid’s presence. He ate lunch with the football team now, since she still wasn’t talking to him. Vicious rumors ran rampant regarding Astrid and Bridger’s huge falling out, some of them bordering on the ridiculous—that Astrid was a homophobe and didn’t like Bridger’s new friendship with Leo—and others fairly close to the truth—that Bridger was a jerk who abandoned Astrid after their years of friendship. Bridger didn’t confirm or deny any of them, hoping his inattention would make them go away. It didn’t.
His afternoons, when not at work, were filled with texts to and from Leo. Bridger learned Leo liked comic book movies but not actual comic books. Blasphemy. Batman was his favorite, and Bridger promptly told him he was wrong and should switch allegiance to Captain America. His favorite band was Pierce the Veil and he listed a bunch of other bands and singers Bridger had never heard of, which led him to spending an awful amount of time on YouTube. Leo knew how to dance because his mother wanted him to learn and his dad played salsa music all the time while he cooked. Leo played football and baseball, and he might run indoor track in the winter. He liked to send Bridger random pictures that he found amusing from the Internet or from around town. Bridger soaked it all in, and the more he learned about Leo, the more he went from being brilliant, unattainable, athletic-star Leo to accessible, compassionate, funny, and giant dork Leo. Bridger liked that Leo even more.
His nights were filled with loneliness and homework and memorizing the book of myths Pavel had given him. Thick ink filled the book’s pages with sketches of creatures and the folklore surrounding them. There were notes too, in Pavel’s cramped handwriting, but also in other scripts, from previous owners. The book had a history all its own, and at times Bridger was overwhelmed with the responsibility Pavel had entrusted him with, of the knowledge of a world which so few knew of and so many had devoted their lives’ work to protecting.
