The Rules and Regulations for Mediating Myths & Magic

by F. T. Lukens

  “What the hell is going on?” she said.

  Pavel shook his head. “Not right now. He’s in shock. I need to get him back to the pixies.”

  “We’ll take my car.”

  Pavel protested, but Bridger slumped in Pavel’s hold. “Not the portal.” He couldn’t. He needed something real, grounding, and maybe the familiarity of Astrid’s car would help him.

  “Fine.” His lips twisted in a frown as they maneuvered him to the car. “What were you thinking? Confronting a hag on your own? She was old and powerful, and even my own protections were weak against her. How did she get your name?”

  Bridger shivered. Was that real? Was Pavel berating him, or was it another nightmare? Another bad decision? He couldn’t tell. He didn’t answer, clamping his lips shut.

  “That was my fault,” Astrid said. “She heard it from me.”

  Pavel’s expression softened; his eyebrows drew together in overt concern.

  His name. She had his name. Bridger understood now—the power that rolled over him when she spoke his name. He bent forward and heaved; vomit and spit and bile spilled from his mouth. His spine arched, and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

  Pavel rubbed Bridger’s back as he struggled to catch his breath. The touch was grounding and comforting, despite Bridger’s humiliation. He wiped his mouth on the end of his sleeve and stumbled away from the puddle with Pavel supporting him.

  Together, Pavel and Astrid bundled him into the back of Astrid’s car behind the driver’s seat. His legs gave out at the door, and Pavel lifted him in. Astrid draped a blanket around him and tucked him in with the seatbelt. He snuggled and inhaled. It smelled like her and grass and hockey gear, and it somewhat calmed his racing heart.

  “Come directly to the house. Quickly. I’ll be waiting.”

  “You’re not coming with us? How’d you get here anyway?”

  Pavel shook his head. “Not now.”

  Astrid didn’t like being blown off, but she didn’t argue. The only evidence of her annoyance was the hard toss of her hockey stick into the passenger’s seat, but that could be due to pent up adrenaline or even fear.

  Was Astrid afraid?

  Bridger clutched the blanket; his fingers were stiff around the coarse fabric.

  The ride was a blur. Astrid asked him questions, but Bridger, lost in thought, didn’t speak, and she gave up trying to engage him halfway to Pavel’s house. She cranked the heat and kept the radio low and soothing. Bridger’s eyelids lowered, and he hunched in on himself, head bent forward, chin on his chest. He wasn’t asleep, but he wasn’t awake and aware, either. His body wouldn’t function; different systems that usually operated in tandem seemed disconnected. His limbs moved as if through water, heavy and sluggish. His heart pounded, echoing in his ears. His brain alternated between vivid visions and blissful blankness. His head throbbed, and a warm, wet trickle slid down his neck. His skin froze and prickled. His chest hitched occasionally with a caught breath, a stutter of air between his teeth as his lungs seized.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. The book said the hag would sit on her victim’s chest, and he desperately hoped she wasn’t there somehow, in the car, invisible, with her dead hand on his neck, around his throat.

  He struggled and coughed; his face burned with exertion.

  “You okay back there?” Astrid asked. She ran a yellow light and took a sharp turn.

  “Fine,” Bridger wheezed.

  “Good, because I’m not. I’m so not. That was terrifying. Honestly, I’m not sure it even happened. But it had to have happened because I whacked the shit out of something with my stick. Oh, my god, did I beat up an old woman?”

  Astrid continued her litany of questions, and Bridger zoned out, listened to the rhythm and cadence of her voice, and let the words blur together. A few more minutes passed, and then she slowed to a halt in front of Pavel’s house.

  The front door banged open and Pavel ran down the sidewalk, through the high weeds, and flung open Bridger’s door.

  Bridger blinked at him.

  “Come on. Inside.” Bridger fumbled with the seatbelt and, after an embarrassing moment, clicked it open. Pavel tugged him to his feet, and Bridger held on; the blanket clung to his shoulders and trailed on the ground. Pavel turned and addressed Astrid. “I have him from here. Go home.”

  “Like hell.” She climbed out of the car. “I’m not letting him out of my sight and I’m not leaving until I have some damn answers.”

  She followed them to the open front door.

  Bridger laughed weakly. At Pavel’s raised eyebrow, Bridger shrugged. “She can’t cross the threshold.”

  “What does that mean? That doesn’t make sense. Did he hit his head?”

  “There’s blood. I assume so. But he’s not wrong. You cannot enter.”

  Astrid frowned. “If you think your mystic bullshit is going to keep me from being with my best friend after he was attacked by a woman out of a Romero film, you clearly don’t know me.”

  “Not a zombie,” Bridger said, his voice slurred and distant. “A hag.”

  “We don’t have time to argue,” Pavel said. “He needs to be seen by the pixies. The effects from an encounter with a malevolent creature can be traumatic.”

  The magic of the ward washed over Bridger, and he sighed. The familiar tingle was comforting and cleansing, and the lingering magic of the hag sloughed off. Bridger’s thoughts cleared. His shoulders slumped. The fear and adrenaline was replaced by deep exhaustion, a weariness Bridger had no comparison for, it was so intrinsically different than anything Bridger had experienced.

  He stumbled toward the stairs only to hear Astrid’s frustrated yell.

  Looking over his shoulder, he saw her on the other side of the threshold. She banged her fist against the air; a ripple of color and light spread from the point of the strike.

  “What the hell?”

  “Go home, Astrid,” Bridger said softly.

  “Is this your way of getting back at me? For ignoring you?”

  Bridger gripped the bannister. He was drained, and his head hurt, and he was just over everything, but he couldn’t ignore that. He looked at Pavel, going for full-on pathetic. Pavel rolled his eyes with his hands on his hips and his horrid jacket askew.

  “If you can do it without hurting yourself, climb the back of the house and enter the blue door. We’ll be in the study on the third floor.”

  Astrid made a noise, but the door slammed shut of its own accord, leaving Pavel and Bridger in silence.

  Bridger had no memory of climbing the stairs, but soon he was ensconced in Pavel’s study in the high-backed leather chair with two pixies fussing over him. Bran dropped another blanket around Bridger and cinched it tight; blue sparkles showered to the floor. He flew off and returned with an ice pack and a washcloth for the wound on Bridger’s head. While Bran wiped away the blood, Nia fluttered around a pot over a flame, dropping in ingredients and muttering to herself about foolish humans; purple sparks fell into the bubbling cauldron.

  Pavel hovered. “Are you okay?”

  Bridger swallowed and that hurt, as did whatever Bran was doing to his head. He pushed against the indents of the hag’s fingers, knowing they would be dark bruises tomorrow. Physically, the injuries were minor.

  “Passing through the ward should have broken any residual hold she had on you.”

  Bridger nodded.

  “How did she get your name? I know you didn’t give it to her willingly.”

  “Astrid,” Bridger croaked. “She called my name and…” He trailed off.

  “Did she say anything to you? Any reason she was there?”

  Bridger shook his head; hair fell into his eyes. “She said I impeded her, but that was it. I thought she might be headed to Leo’s house to do what hags do. But I don’t know. She could’ve just been going down
the street to a hag meeting.” It was the most Bridger had said thus far and it drained him of any further effort.

  “What did she show you?”

  No one wants you.

  Panic crawled into Bridger’s chest. His body stiffened in fear. His breath came quicker, shorter, in gasps. Oh, God, he was tired, but he couldn’t sleep. She’d come back. She’d come back and crush his lungs and pollute his dreams, and his father would leave again, and his mother would blame him and wouldn’t want him. Astrid would hate him. Leo would think he was an imposter, a fake.

  Pavel knelt in front of him, placed his hands on Bridger’s shoulders and squeezed. “Whatever she showed you wasn’t real.” He met Bridger’s gaze. “It wasn’t real. You’re fine. Everyone you know is fine. You are safe here.”

  “My dad left. My mom didn’t want me. Leo and Astrid… they didn’t want me either and…” Whatever tears he had held in came out in a burst. He covered his face with his hands and hunched forward.

  “Oh, Bridger. That was a lie. That’s what she does. She twists your fears. You are wanted.”

  Bridger fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around Pavel shoulders. He buried his face in Pavel’s chest and sobbed into his scratchy, checkered vest. This was the second time Bridger cried in front of Pavel, but he didn’t care. He needed the tears, and the purple and blue glitter that fell on his shoulders, and the safe embrace of a friend to finally silence the terrible voice in his head.

  “You’re safe now. The magic of the house and my magic will keep you safe. And you can stay here tonight.”

  “We’d prefer it if you would,” Nia said, fluttering close to Bridger’s ear. “We need to care for our human.”

  “Even if he won’t sit still long enough for me to make sure he doesn’t need stitches,” Bran huffed.

  Bridger chuckled through the tears and pulled away. He wiped his eyes, climbed into the chair, and tucked his bare feet under him.

  “Sorry. I’m not usually…”

  “It’s the hag’s magic. It’ll wear off.”

  Nia flew in and handed Bridger a cup of dark steaming liquid. He sniffed it and made a face. She waved a finger at him.

  “Drink it. It’ll help.”

  He lifted it to his lips and sipped. She had put honey in it. He smiled and drank it, and it filled him with warmth and light and pushed the darkness out.

  It also made him inexplicably sleepy.

  He heard a thud and a curse.

  Bran and Nia went on full alert and flew off to the blue door. Pavel called after them.

  Bridger melted into the corner of the chair and closed his eyes. The panic he had felt at the mere thought of sleep was gone, wiped away with tears and honey and sparkles.

  He heard Astrid stomp in and heard a furious whispered conversation between her and Pavel. She promised to return the following day after school and to provide an excuse for Bridger’s absence. Huh. He was going to be absent tomorrow. He wondered why. He’d left his phone and his bag and his compact in his room. His door was open. His shoes were in the hallway. His mother would wonder where he was. He hadn’t texted her. She’d worry.

  “Up,” Pavel ordered, shaking Bridger awake. “You’ll hurt your neck in the chair. Use the couch.”

  “My mom…”

  “Astrid is taking care of it.”

  “Did you drug me?” Bridger slurred, barely awake as he crossed the room.

  Nia snickered. “I added a natural sleep aid to the tea. It’ll help. A direct encounter with a magical being will drain a human, and you need rest. Bran and I will stay nearby.”

  “All night?”

  Bran lifted another blanket and shook it out before adding it to Bridger’s pile and tucking him in once he was horizontal. “All night.”

  “Okay. Awesome.”

  “Goodnight,” Pavel said. “Things will look better in the morning. I promise.”

  Bridger snuggled into the pillow and fell asleep.

  Chapter 11

  Things did not look better in the morning.

  Bridger blearily sat up and raised his hand to block out the morning light streaming through the window. Groggy and confused, Bridger kicked off the blankets—why were there so many?—and looked around.

  Oh.

  Right.

  Close encounter with a terrifying, nightmare-making hag.

  He swung his legs over the edge of the couch and stood, then sat right back down—hard. His head spun, and he was weak, as if he had just gotten over a bad case of the flu.

  “You’re awake!” Nia greeted, fluttering in.

  She carried a tray with a cup of tea, a bottle of pop, and a plate of food—a massive cheeseburger and a pile of fries.

  “Elena brought you the food. It smells and looks disgusting, but she assured me that it’s something teenage boys like.” She sat the tray on the table a few feet away.

  Bridger’s stomach rumbled.

  “What time is it?”

  “About two in the afternoon.”

  “What?” Bridger scrambled to stand, gripping the arm of the couch for support. “Are you kidding me? What the hell?”

  “You were drained. You needed the rest. Don’t worry,” Nia said, waving off his concern. “Elena prowled around Leo’s house during the night to make sure the hag didn’t come back. Astrid brought your things over this morning.”

  With coltish legs, Bridger crossed the room to the table and chair. His school bag sat on the floor and he opened it and fished out his phone and his shoes. He had texts from his mother that Astrid had answered as him, stating he was going to sleep at her house because he wasn’t feeling well.

  Genius.

  Amid the conversation between Astrid as him and his mom, was another text from Astrid to him. Curious, Bridger thumbed it open and found an apology.

  I’m sorry. And I missed you too.

  He smiled and clutched the phone tighter, relieved. Astrid really was the best, but even with her subterfuge, he still needed to call his mother—after he ate.

  Ravenous, he dug into the food, barely taking time to breathe between bites, shoving fries into his mouth, inhaling the cheeseburger. He sucked the soda down, emptying the bottle.

  Nia watched, disapproving, but not surprised.

  “Humans are disgusting.”

  “Are they now?” Elena asked, waltzing in. “I always found them to be quaint.” Pavel followed, and the pair of them couldn’t have looked more different. Elena walked with fierce swinging hips: a flawless runway model perfect in a pair of jeans and a sweater and high heels. Pavel entered with his hands in his pockets, awkward and tired, and far from chic, unless disheveled with dark under-eye circles was the new style. Bridger doubted it.

  “How are you two friends?” Bridger asked, around a mouthful.

  Elena’s lip curled up in disgust. “Ugh, you’re right, Nia.”

  “We’re friends, I wager, the same way you and Astrid are friends.”

  Bridger swallowed the last bite. “Fair point.” Finished with the food, Bridger sat back in the chair, feeling infinitely better. “Where’s Bran?”

  “Trailing Leo. With Astrid.”

  Bridger sputtered. “What?”

  Elena crossed the room, settled on the couch, and crossed her legs at the knee. She seemed out of place on the shabby cushions. Pavel pushed open the curtains obscuring the board and revealed the mess of note cards, maps, and newspaper clippings.

  “Leo is integral to what is happening with the myth cycles. He’s confirmed to have been in the vicinity of the mermaids, the howler, the unicorn, and now the hag.”

  “Yeah, but I was at all those events, too.”

  “Yes, but you couldn’t cross the threshold on your own.”

  “We don’t know that! I never tried until I came in through the other door.” />
  Pavel pursed his lips. “The first time I met Leo at the beach, I sensed he was odd. I mistakenly thought it was due to his involvement with the mermaids, but I was wrong. He is indeed a myth. You are not.”

  “Ah, poor Bridger is not special,” Elena said with a sharp smile.

  “Shove it, Marmaduke.”

  “Dog jokes? How pedestrian.”

  “I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

  “You should be thanking me. I gave up valuable beauty sleep to sit under your boyfriend’s window and make sure that nasty creature didn’t come back to invade his dreams.” She studied her nails in the light. “I think I may have chipped a nail.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Bridger said, clipped and embarrassed.

  “Really? Interesting. Though that doesn’t explain why I heard breathy whispers of your name. Superior hearing has a few drawbacks or benefits, depending on your point of view.”

  Bridger’s face heated.

  Pavel rolled his eyes.

  “Elena, stop. We don’t need to know.”

  “I could stand to hear more,” Nia said, hovering over Bridger’s shoulder. “Humans fascinate me.”

  “Ugh, stop it.” Bridger swatted the air, and Nia danced out of the way, laughing. “You two suck.”

  Elena smirked.

  “Anyway,” Pavel said, gesturing at the wall, “I have an inkling, but I need more information. And we don’t have much time. It’s one thing to ask a sasquatch to go home, it’s another when howlers and hags start showing up unwanted. I keep a strict eye on the more dangerous of our world, but it’s harder when they’re moving about and breaking traditions.”

  “What kind of information do you need?” Nia asked. “We’ve been through all the books.”

  “About Leo specifically.” Pavel leveled his intense gaze at Bridger. “What can you tell us? Anything? About his origins? Where he’s been?”

  Bridger squirmed under the scrutiny. “Uh, he moved from Puerto Rico. He moved here the day before the ghost showed up.”

  “Yes, we know that.” Pavel pointed to the board. “But why?”

  “His dad got a job here. He didn’t want to come, but then he saw the high school sucked at the sports he was good at and he talked with coach on the phone before he moved. Leo said he felt called, as though he could help. He totally has. He’s amazing.”