by F. T. Lukens
His afternoons were spent at Pavel’s office helping him when possible. They hadn’t cracked the code but, other than the ridiculous cold snap, things seemed to have calmed.
Days bled into a week since the night of the unicorn. On a lazy Saturday, when Leo had practice and Bridger’s mom slept, Bridger took the bus to the office. How awful was Bridger’s life that the only person available to hang out with was his boss?
Bridger knocked on the door, and it immediately swung inward to reveal Pavel decked out in a long overcoat on top of a thick sweater. He had gloves on his hands and a puke-green scarf wrapped around his neck, covering the lower part of his face. He had a knit hat pulled low over his ears.
Bridger barreled in. “I have a question. Well, more than one, but, if Elena is the Beast of Bray Road, what is she doing in Michigan? That’s a Wisconsin cryptid.”
Pavel closed the door and answered, but with all the fabric in front of his mouth Bridger didn’t understand a word.
“What?”
Pavel squinted. He pulled down the scarf. “She moved.”
“Oh, and, um, what’s with the clothes? It’s honestly not that cold outside, Pavel,” Bridger said, leaning on Mindy’s desk. “A bit nippy, but I think you’re going overboard.”
“Sasquatch. In the woods. About one hundred miles north of here.”
“Really? Did the toaster tell you?”
“Yes. It gave me the location. But he’s not in danger and neither are any humans. He is a few decades early, however.”
“And that’s why you’re dressed like there’s a blizzard?”
Bridger looked out the window at the clear, sunny sky. Undoubtedly, it was colder than normal, but he managed with his hoodie over a long-sleeved shirt.
“Of course. It will be downright frigid in the forest.”
Bridger shook his head. “One day I’ll understand what you mean when you say it and I won’t need an explanation.”
“Every myth has a cycle.”
“Well, yeah, you told me that. I’m guessing that includes a sasquatch.”
Pavel nodded. “Yes. And sasquatch migrate, usually staying near the arctic, but this particular one comes farther south every half a century or so. And he brings a cold snap with him.”
Bridger furrowed his brow. Fifty years. Why did that sound so familiar? “Wait, are you telling me that sasquatch bring cold weather by magic?”
“Yes, in a way. One of their unique characteristics is they influence the weather.”
“You had me research unseasonably cold weather because of a sasquatch? You had me track its migration via old newspapers? And now it’s so freaking cold because it has wandered south early?”
Pavel smiled, a full-out smile, which was rare. He slapped Bridger on the shoulder. “Now you get it!”
“Wait, hold on. I’m still confused.”
Pavel went to the staircase and climbed. “Come on, then. Don’t you want to meet the big fellow?”
Bridger scrambled after him. “Well, yeah, of course. But why did you make me research it? If you already knew the migration cycle?”
“I needed confirmation and a pattern. Remember, I’ve only been doing this for about a century. The learning curve is fairly steep.” Bridger rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t make a face, Bridger. You were instrumental in helping me figure out it was a sasquatch who arrived early and not some other weather phenomenon. And now you’re going to meet the infamous Bigfoot. It’ll be fun.”
“I think you have a skewed perception of fun,” Bridger said, but he was ecstatic. He vibrated with excitement. Actual sasquatch! He was going to see the most sought after cryptid other than the Loch Ness Monster.
“Well, you can stay here with Nia and Bran then.”
“Not on your life, Chudinov. I’m going with. How are we getting there?”
Pavel grinned. He beckoned Bridger up another level of the house to the attic. Bridger hadn’t been up here since the day he was hired and he vaguely remembered details. The blue door sat at the back of the landing, small and unremarkable, but Bridger knew its purpose now and could feel the hum of energy surrounding the frame. The ceiling curved, and Bridger ducked to keep from bumping his head. The fourth floor remained dusty and empty and, alas, devoid of suits of armor.
Pavel led him into a small room filled with nothing but a layer of dust and a lone department store mannequin standing in the corner.
“We need to have a talk about your levels of creepiness,” Bridger said, pointing to the figure.
Pavel flicked a glance at the mannequin. “Noted. But after our adventure.” He approached the closet, grasped the knob, and yanked the door open.
It was a closet, and then, it wasn’t. Inside, the shadows deepened and coalesced and the space went from empty air to a glowing, gleaming mass of swirling chaos.
Bridger’s mouth went dry.
It was beautiful and terrifying, as if Bridger stared into an infinite abyss of space and stars and possibility. It stared back.
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s the portal,” Pavel said. “I only use it when traveling significant distances. I use the car for around town, but this will be quicker. Also, I think it gets lonely up here.”
Bridger pointed at the closet. “I’m not going in there.”
“Don’t be afraid. I’ll hold your hand. It’s a lot like stepping through a warm waterfall.”
“I thought it had to be calibrated to me or something.”
“You’re with me. It’ll be fine.”
Bridger shook his head. “It looks like death.”
The congealed darkness quivered.
“Oh,” Pavel said, petting the surface. “He didn’t mean anything by it. He’s new.” The darkness leeched up Pavel’s fingers to his wrist and Pavel nodded. “Yes, to the sasquatch, if you please.” He turned to Bridger. “Ready?”
“Actually, I don’t think—”
Pavel grabbed Bridger’s hand and pulled, and Bridger stumbled forward into the black.
He heard a sucking sound, like when a drain becomes unclogged and the water rushes downward in a giant slurp. The noise filled his head, and warmth tingled over his body, and he was squeezed on all sides, and then—Bridger popped out into a forest.
Gasping, he fell to his knees and bent forward; leaves crunched under his hands as he shook. Pavel patted his back and then hauled Bridger to his feet.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” he asked, voice muffled by his scarf.
Bridger shivered and shoved his hands under the armpits of his hoodie. They were surrounded by tall evergreens and deciduous trees that had lost their leaves. The ground beneath him was frost-covered, and his breath hung in clouds in front of his face.
“Where are we?” Bridger asked, teeth chattering. “And why is it so cold?”
“Did the portal scramble your brain? We’ve just finished talking about this.”
Bridger looked around. “The sasquatch is nearby?”
“Should be, as long as the portal did its job.” Pavel eyed Bridger. “You’re cold.”
“No shit.”
Pavel unwound his scarf and shrugged off his coat. He handed them over. Bridger wanted to say something about the horrible color of the scarf and the design of the coat, but he wasn’t going to turn down warmth. He wrapped the scarf around his neck, snuggled into the coat, and hugged it tightly around his body. It was warm from Pavel’s body heat and it smelled like pixie dust.
“What about you?”
Pavel lifted a hand, and Bridger watched as a small flame danced in his palm. “Magic. I can keep myself warm for a while yet. Shall we look around?”
“How are we going to get back?” Bridger spun in a circle and didn’t see a closet door in the middle of the empty landscape.
Pavel sighed at Bridger’s antics an
d pointed out a glimmer between two trees. It wasn’t swirling black but was a clear distortion of Bridger’s surroundings, like looking through frosted glass. He experienced the same smallness while staring at the anomaly that he had looking at the closet.
“Come on, then. He should be around here somewhere.” Pavel trudged through the undergrowth. He peered at the ground as his gloved hands skirted over tree bark.
Bridger followed. “And what are you going to do when we find him?”
“Ask him to go north.”
“It’s that easy?”
“I think so.”
Bridger stopped in his tracks. “What do you mean you think?”
“I’ve only been doing this for a century, Bridger.” Pavel shot a look over his shoulder. “I’ve met a sasquatch once before, and that was under normal circumstances.”
Bridger blinked. He never thought he would hear “normal circumstances” and “sasquatch” in the same sentence and it make any kind of sense. “I’m not going to lie, but I’m a little worried. Your powers of understatement are epic, and this may be one of those times we end up running for our lives.”
Pavel scoffed. “That was one time.”
“Yeah, the only other time that we’ve done anything like this.” Bridger jogged to catch up. “And hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, how old are you? And where are you from?”
Pavel let his head fall back and stared at the bright sky above the bare branches. “I’m older than I look but young enough to be the youngest intermediary on the planet at this moment.”
“Cop-out answer. Come on, tell me for real.”
“I’m one hundred and twenty-six years old.”
“Whoa, that’s amazing. That’s seriously amazing. Are you like immortal or do you have really good genes?”
Pavel laughed. “It’s the magic that comes with the job. It prolongs life. I’m actually fairly young. My mentor was almost five hundred before he retired.”
“Holy crap! That’s… a logistical nightmare. Think of the paperwork you’d need to reinvent your identity every ninety years. I have so many questions. So many questions. Do you think I could talk to him?”
“Maybe one day.”
“And your accent?”
“I’m from a small village in eastern Europe that doesn’t exist anymore.”
And that brought Bridger up short. He didn’t think of the consequences of living that long, about outliving your friends and family… your home.
“I’m sorry. That sounds… lonely.” Bridger ducked his head and watched as his sneakers snapped twigs and leaves clung to the hem of his jeans. He knew about lonely. He and lonely were good friends. “What about your family?”
“You’ve met them.”
“I have?”
“Nia, Bran, and Elena. They’re my family. Mindy sometimes too, when she’s doing things like saving me from a manticore wound and hiring an assistant.”
“Oh,” Bridger said.
“Family isn’t all about blood, Bridger. It’s about who is there for you and who makes you happy. You can make your own family. Mine happens to be two annoying pixies and a werewolf.”
“That sounds kind of perfect, actually.”
Pavel smiled. “It is.” He bent and ran his finger over an oval-shaped path of frost. “What about you?”
“Me? Oh, well, I’ve lived in Midden all my life. And um… my dad left when I was seven. So it’s my mom and me. Her parents are both gone, and she was an only child. I think I may have cousins somewhere on my dad’s side, but I don’t know.” Bridger kicked at a pile of leaves.
“What about the girl at the beach?” Pavel stood and strode off in another direction.
Bridger matched his long strides. “Astrid? She’s my best friend, but we had a falling out. She’s not talking to me. It’s kind of my fault.”
Pavel hummed. “And the boy?”
“Leo? Oh, yeah. He’s a… friend.” Bridger scrubbed a hand over his hair and regretted exposing his fingers to the cold. He shoved them back into his pocket. “I mean, I like him. Like romantically, like I lust after him, and I probably shouldn’t have said that to my boss, but uh… I’m not… I mean I wanted to get with Sally Goforth last year at junior prom or at least make out. And I’ve had a massive crush on Scar Jo for the longest time.”
Pavel huffed. “Who hasn’t?” He said it in a way that Bridger knew that Pavel had no idea who he was talking about, but Bridger soldiered on anyway.
“Right? But can we talk about Chris Evans for a second, too? Because honestly. It’s not fair.”
Pavel poked at a string of glittering ice hanging from a branch. “Bridger, it’s perfectly acceptable to like both. Or all. Or none of the above.”
Bridger stopped, startled. No one had ever said that to him. Of course, he had heard it. He’d seen it on social media and in speeches made by famous people, but it hadn’t been directed at him. It wasn’t as if he needed permission to lust after Chris and Scarlett at the same time, but acceptance was a powerful thing. An adult—one Bridger trusted with his life—told him it was okay. He was okay.
His knees went weak and he sat on the ground hard.
Pavel turned around, did a double take, then raced back to Bridger.
“Are you all right? What happened?”
Bridger took a breath and looked up. His eyes stung with tears. “I… I…” He gulped. “I needed to hear that.” His voice came out choked.
“Oh.”
Pavel crouched. He touched Bridger’s arm, comforting, soothing, and Bridger filled to bursting.
“I lied.” Pavel’s face scrunched in confusion, and Bridger quickly continued. “Leo wasn’t the first guy that I thought was attractive. I’ve known for a while that I like guys, but I hadn’t told anyone. Even Astrid. But this summer, when Leo moved in, and he mowed his lawn without his shirt, I took the chance to tell her. It was my test, to see how other people would react, to see how she would react. If it went badly, it wouldn’t matter anyway. I’m leaving. I don’t think I’ve told you but I’m going to college in Florida because if I get far enough away, then I can be myself. I can show up and just be and not have to come out.” Words and tears tumbled over each other as Bridger confessed, purged himself of the secrets he had carried for so long. “I’m scared to tell my mom, because she is all I have and I don’t want to lose her because I’m not the son she wanted, because I’m different. I took the job with you because I don’t have the money for tuition or everything else that goes with moving across the country. Astrid isn’t speaking to me, and I don’t know how to fix it. And Leo wants to date, but I’m not brave enough. I’m not brave at all.”
The words ran out, and Bridger gasped like a fish on land; his body trembled and his breath was ragged and desperate.
Pavel pulled Bridger into a one-armed hug, and Bridger leaned into him. He bent his head and used the end of Pavel’s scarf to wipe his face.
“Hey, you’re okay,” Pavel said, soothing. “You’re brave. You’re brave. And you don’t have to tell your mother or anyone right now. And if it all goes belly up, you’ve got two pixies who would feed you sweets for a lifetime and a surly receptionist who thinks the world of you. I know she doesn’t show it, but Mindy likes you. She hasn’t thrown a bobblehead at you, which is quite telling. And you’ll have a job as long as you need one. Even if you move, the Florida intermediary is a friend of mine, and I’ll provide a reference.”
Bridger chuckled wetly. “Whoever told you that you suck at consoling was wrong.”
“Well, that was a few decades ago. I may have gotten better.”
“Thanks.” Bridger blew out a breath. He felt silly and empty and happy and cleansed. “Sorry for exploding on you. I think I may have carried that around a while.”
“It’s all right. I know being a teenager can be difficult. I was one once… a
hundred or so years ago, but I imagine the experiences are similar.”
Bridger smiled. “I wouldn’t go that far, Pavel.”
“Nevertheless, feel free to talk to me about anything. I’ll do my best to help.”
Bridger eased away and rubbed his eyes. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now,” Pavel said, clapping his hands, “sasquatch.”
Bridger pulled himself to his feet. “Yeah. Let’s find big and hairy and ask him to turn around.”
Pavel nodded. He stood from his crouch, took two steps, and that’s when the silence of the woods was broken by a roar. The sound echoed over the countryside, loud and deep and long. Dead branches on the trees rattled, leaves whipped up, and sprays of pine needles fell to the ground. Bridger shook with it; the sound settled into his bones and set his whole body on edge, and panic coiled in his chest, a solid lump of terror.
“Oh, he’s nearby,” Pavel said, gleefully. “This way.”
Bridger stumbled after him while his body shuddered and his teeth chattered. “Pavel? Wait. Hold on. This is ridiculous.”
Pavel strode through the forest, pushed through the bushes and bracken, and made a small noise in his throat when he found a trail: a trail of destruction, of frost and flattened flora, and claw marks on old trees.
“Oh, here we go. His trail. Excellent.”
“I’m beginning to think this is a horrible idea.”
“You can go back if you want. I’ll be fine.”
“Several reasons why I’m not doing that, but two significant ones are that Nia would eviscerate me if I come back without you and, two, I am not going through the portal alone.”
“Hurry along, then.”
Bridger grudgingly followed, muttering under his breath about bad decisions, but was cut off by a small forest of twigs snapping in succession. That was when it hit Bridger that the woods had been silent, eerily silent, as if the whole forest held its breath and now it was exhaling in a cold, bitter wind. If Bridger thought he’d been cold before, it was nothing compared to what he felt now. It was frigid—Mount Everest levels of freezing. Bridger picked up his pace and ran right into Pavel, who had stopped in his tracks.
