Chapter 14
“Are you kidding me?” Bridger whispered, harsh and panicked. “Pavel, there are hundreds of people here. There cannot be a troll!”
Pavel stared into the mirror unimpressed. “Do you think I’d be covered in troll spit otherwise?” A glob slid down the side of his nose. Pavel used the sleeve of his horrid coat to wipe it away. The fabric charred; smoke wreathed around Pavel’s head.
“Are you on fire?” Astrid asked, leaning in.
Bridger waved off the question. “Troll spit is acidic and smells awful. And what are we going to do?”
“Meet me in the parking lot.”
In the mirror, behind Pavel, a hulking shape ambled between cars. It was far from human, too tall, too green, too lumbering. Bridger gulped as it stooped to peer around, its large eyes reflecting the light from the mirror.
“Why are you making that face, Bridger? Also, Astrid, you are very pale.”
“Behind you,” Astrid whispered.
Pavel nodded sharply and cast a glance over his shoulder. “Right,” he said. “Hurry!”
Bridger snapped the mirror shut. He and Astrid wasted no time in running for the exit.
This was awful. There were so many people. The crowd was huge. A troll wouldn’t be missed. Astrid and Bridger hurriedly picked their way through the crowd, dodged the influx of people, and slid on the wet track and concrete.
Bridger managed to glance at the scoreboard. The teams were tied at zero, but it was early in the game. Plenty of time left for Leo to shine. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t get the chance to see him play. He was going to be busy negotiating with a troll. Such was his life.
They skidded to the exit and ran past the adults handing out programs, the girls in pretty dresses huddling in a corner of a shelter from the rain waiting for halftime, the alumni streaming in, and fans of the other high school dressed in opposing colors. Bridger fled through the exit arch, squeezed past a metal gate, then stumbled into the massive parking lot.
The lot was huge, easily as large as the field itself, and circled the stadium. In the rain and the twilight, the street lights offered little in the way of illumination. Bridger squinted as he and Astrid ran, scanning the rows of parked cars. They continued away from the stadium, toward a more dimly lit, less crowded area, looking for any signs of supernatural activity, specifically anything charred or smoking.
“Where is he? I don’t see him or the troll.”
“I don’t know,” Bridger said. “I can’t see—” He stopped abruptly, sliding on the wet asphalt as he glanced down. The ground shimmered under his feet and a gleam like oil on water snaked out in front of him—tiny rainbows discernible in the scant moonlight. “Oh, no.”
“What?” Astrid said. “What’s wrong?”
The sound of bells ringing on stone echoed throughout the space.
Astrid grabbed Bridger’s arm and gasped. “Oh, my God.”
The unicorn reared in front of them, brilliant white against the backdrop of the murky sky; its mane flowed behind it, and its horn glistened. Its dark eyes large, it danced on shiny hooves. Magic emanated from the creature in waves and tingled over Bridger’s skin.
“It’s so beautiful,” Astrid said, awed.
Bridger tugged her sleeve. “Run.”
“What?”
Hearing Bridger’s voice, the unicorn swung its head in their direction. It pawed the ground, snorted, and lowered its magnificent horn.
“Run!”
It charged, hooves striking against the asphalt in a discordant cacophony, the sound of magic clashing against a human environment. Bridger held on to Astrid’s sweaty hand and pulled her into a row of tightly packed cars, veered sharply out of the path of the unicorn, and barely dodged the pointy end of the rampaging animal.
“I thought you touched it!” Astrid yelled. She ducked between a minivan and a truck, and Bridger threw himself next to her.
“Yeah, I did. But I also offended it.”
“How do you offend a unicorn?”
Bridger didn’t get to answer. The unicorn rammed the minivan, which rocked on two tires. The terrible screech of a horn scraping across metal set Bridger’s teeth on edge. The unicorn assaulted the van; its back legs kicked like pistons. Bridger threw his arms over his head as metal buckled and glass shattered. Shards gathered in the folds of his hoodie and pricked his skin.
The van creaked to the side, and bounced on the tires, and groaned as the back end skittered across the ground, colliding into the truck next to it. Scrambling backward to avoid being pinned, Bridger sucked in a sharp breath and tugged hard on Astrid’s sleeve.
“We need to move.”
On hands and knees, Bridger and Astrid crawled down the middle of a row. The road was rough and slick beneath Bridger’s palms, and his knees scraped along the ground. He had horrible images of dying crushed between pairs of headlights because of a very angry unicorn.
“Bridger?” Astrid said, breathy and panicked. “Your job sucks.”
“I’m aware!”
They reached the end of the row. If they crawled any farther, they’d be in the open and more than likely gored.
“What now?”
Bridger heard the unicorn prancing around the cars, snorting, and whinnying, banging its horn on the backs of vehicles as it searched for them.
“We’re going to call Pavel and scream for help.”
Whipping out the mirror, Bridger flipped it open, but the unicorn leapt onto the back of a coupe and perched precariously, feet stamping the roof and crushing the windshield.
“Shit!”
Astrid screeched. Bridger fell backward and dropped the mirror.
The unicorn neighed.
They barely made it to their feet before the unicorn forced them out of the row and into the open lane: the one place Bridger really didn’t want to be.
He shoved Astrid behind him and threw his hands out to the side. His body didn’t offer much protection, but it was the least he could do after bringing his best friend into this mess.
Holding out a hand in front of him, Bridger addressed the unicorn. “Now, I know we had our differences last time, but it was all for your own protection.”
It teetered on the hood of the car; the metal crumpled beneath its weight.
“I am still unicorn-friendly, again, not for lack of desire, but you know, we could still be friends.”
Bridger and Astrid continued to slowly back away. The muscles beneath the unicorn’s slick coat shifted, and there was a malicious glint in the unicorn’s large eyes. It was going to jump at them. They were going to die.
The buzzer for halftime blew.
The unicorn reared back, startled, slipped off the slick hood of the car and fell.
This time it was Astrid pulling on Bridger and yelling “Run!” They took off for the other end of the parking lot as the unicorn struggled behind them.
“We need to find Pavel.”
“Where’s the mirror?”
Bridger patted down his clothes. “Crap! I must have dropped it.”
“My car is this way.”
Zigzagging through parked cars in an icy drizzle with a troll and a unicorn in the near vicinity was not Bridger’s ideal Friday night. Bridger panted; cloudy puffs framed his face. His sodden hoodie drooped in his eyes and clung to his chilled skin. His hands bled, scraped raw from crawling, and his heart raced.
Where was Pavel?
With luck, Bridger and Astrid made it to her car. She popped open her trunk and rifled through her things. She pulled out her hockey stick and flipped open a car emergency kit.
“Here, take this.” She tossed Bridger a flashlight.
He caught it, barely, his fingers shaking and frozen, and slid it into the front pocket of his hoodie.
“Now what?” Astrid asked, shoving a road flare into her pocket. “We’ve lost the mirror. We don’t know where Pavel is, and any minute that unicorn is going to figure out where we are.”
“I don’t—”
A menacing elk bugle sounded to their right. A howl answered, followed by a screech of a wild cat. An enraged whinny, the stomp of heavy feet, the rattle of a scorpion tail—the noises came one right after another, and Astrid crowded next to Bridger and clutched his arm in both of hers.
Bridger catalogued the sounds—Ozark Howler, Beast of Bladenboro, unicorn, troll, manticore...
“Bridger, we’re in a horror movie.” Astrid held him tighter. “What’s happening?”
“I think this is what Pavel tried to warn me about.”
The bugle was close—closer than the others. Bridger held his breath and listened. At the soft sound of padded feet on the ground, he turned slowly. Behind them, walking on the grassy, shadowed edge near the stadium, almost indiscernible in the darkness with its fur that sucked in the light, was the Ozark Howler. It lifted its snout and sniffed the air. Horns curled at the side of its massive head. Its red eyes burned.
It growled, low and long, as it prowled the darkness.
Another howl rent the air. Wait. The howl came from something else—someone else. Bridger furrowed his brow. A howl—Elena—the Best of Bray Road. She was nearby and she had superior senses, including hearing.
Bridger licked his lips. He gripped the flashlight in his pocket. “Elena!” he yelled. “Help! Elena, we need help!”
“What are you doing?”
The howler growled, its glowing eyes now trained on the pair of them. Its massive tail swished. It crouched, shoulders tensing, like a house cat ready to pounce on a mouse—if the cat was the size of a bear. Its lips pulled back over sharp teeth.
Bridger gripped the flashlight in his frozen fingers.
The howler lunged.
Elena gracefully slid between Bridger and the shaggy beast and bellowed. The howler flinched, pulled back, distracted by the beautiful, terrifying werewolf. Bridger stepped around Elena’s crouched body and shined the light right at the howler’s chest.
It shrieked. Falling to the ground, it writhed and cried, the sound gut-wrenching and pathetic. It backpedaled and turned tail. The shag of its inky fur bled white, and Bridger switched off the light. The howler ran.
“Why did you turn it off?” Astrid asked, her voice almost as shrill as the howler’s whine.
“We’re trying to protect the myths, not hurt them.” Bridger handed her the flashlight. “I think that scared it away.”
Elena spun on her heel, her long brown hair swished, her body was lithe and stunning in the low light. She stood at her full height, plump red lips pursed, perfect eyebrows arched, eyelashes long and curled. She placed her hands on her slim hips.
Bridger went starry-eyed. Stupid attractive werewolf.
“You’re lucky I heard you.” She pulled a mirror from her pocket, and her long nails curled around the clamshell. “Call Pavel please.” The mirror lit up in her hand, and it was immediately answered. “I have the kids,” she said. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. Where are you?”
Elena looked around. “In part of this parking lot. Hold on.” She rolled her shoulders and tilted her head back. She howled, deafening and wonderful, and beyond what a human throat should be able to do.
“Got it. Be there in a moment,” Pavel said.
Astrid’s eyes went wide. “That was awesome.”
“Thank you.” Elena smiled, white teeth glowing in the dark.
“My, what big teeth you have,” Bridger said.
Elena snorted. “Don’t bait your rescuer, or I might use them.” She snapped them together.
Astrid giggled.
Bridger huddled in his soaked hoodie and grumbled. “What are you doing around here anyway?”
Elena furrowed her brow and bit her lower lip. “Would you believe that I didn’t mean to? I happened to go for a walk and I was drawn in this direction. I ran into Pavel and the troll. Then I heard you call for help.”
“Lucky us,” Astrid chimed.
A cheer went up from the stadium. Elena tilted her chin. “What’s going on over there?”
“Homecoming game.”
Her soft expression became a leer. “Oh, is the little hero over there?” She tapped her long nails against her mouth. “No wonder you reek of hormones.”
Astrid burst out laughing. For someone who had been chased by a unicorn and almost mauled by a howler, she was unreasonably cheery.
Bridger scowled.
Luckily for Bridger, Pavel jogged up, trench coat flapping behind him, and… speaking of smell. Bridger raised his arm to his nose to block the stench and inhaled stale fabric softener.
“Where have you been?” Bridger asked, voice muffled. “We went looking for you.”
Pavel was out of breath. He bent over, hands on his knees. “Negotiating with the troll.”
“Did it work?”
Pavel shook his head.
“Great, is it going to come after us?” Bridger’s rapid speech went high. “Because we’ve already had two close encounters tonight and I’d rather we didn’t have any more. Though with the weird noises I’ve heard in the past thirty minutes, I’m betting we don’t have a choice.”
Elena rolled her eyes. “Where is it now, Pasha?”
“Heading somewhere else.”
That… wasn’t better. How was that better? “Won’t it get seen? I only saw the shadow of that thing, and it was clearly nonhuman. Lumbering down the highway is just as bad as if it was here. Right?”
Pavel held up his hand and wiggled his fingers. Stuck to his damp palm was a fine layer of glittering pixie dust. Pixie dust which Pavel used to turn his car invisible.
“Holy crap, you’re brilliant!”
“I am, occasionally,” Pavel said. He straightened. His chest heaved. His clothes smoked from the troll spit. He looked awful and if he hadn’t been covered in something that would scald him, Bridger would’ve hugged the shit out of him.
“One problem taken care of,” Elena said, cocking her hip. “But I can smell the others lurking nearby.”
In the distance, the scoreboard buzzed, signaling the end of the third quarter.
“And we’re almost out of time,” Bridger said. “This parking lot can’t be crawling with cryptids when that game ends in about fifteen minutes, especially not ones that want to gore people or stab them with their freaky scorpion tails!”
Pavel rubbed a spot on his chest and winced. “You’re right. We’ll need to—” Pavel’s pocket rang like a dying firetruck siren. He pulled out his mirror and flipped it open; the casing was singed by his hand.
Bridger, aware of the toxic sludge and the smell, peered into the mirror. Bran and Nia hovered, sparks raining off their small bodies, their voices high pitched and chattering.
“Slow down,” Pavel said. “I can’t understand you.”
Nia balled up her hands but took a breath. “The toasters won’t stop.”
“They’ve rung so hard they’ve fallen off the counters and are vibrating across the kitchen floor.” Bran’s face was scrunched, and he clapped his hands over his ears. “It’s horrible.”
Astrid nudged Bridger’s side. “Toasters?”
“Myth alarms,” he whispered back.
“You use toasters for alarms?”
Bridger felt somewhat validated by Astrid’s incredulity. Elena shushed them.
“What’s coming?” Pavel asked.
Nia’s flew in and pressed her face against the mirror. “Everything.”
Pavel paled. “Where?”
“Straight at you.”
Bridger whipped around to stare at the stadium bathed in bright lights. “Leo.” He turned back to the group. “It’s because of Leo. He’s here playing in the game. They’re drawn to him.”
“We have to keep them from being seen,” Pavel said. He ran his hand through his spit-covered hair. “One myth alone would be disastrous, but several would mean the end. It only takes a handful of people to corroborate.”
“We’ll have to run them off.” Elena flipped her hair.
If Bridger’s pulse wasn’t already racing, it would’ve shot off like a rocket. As it was, his heart triple-thumped.
“And how are we going to do that?” Bridger managed. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t come equipped with anything to fight a howler, a manticore, or a rampaging unicorn.”
“Wait. We just have to stall them, right?” Astrid asked, gripping her hockey stick like a lifeline. “Just until the game is over, and then Bridger can break Leo’s heart.”
Pavel peered into the mirror. “Nia, Bran, we need you immediately.”
“But… we’re not ourselves,” she said. “What if we turn on you? What if—”
“Please.”
Bran shouldered into the picture. “We’ll be there as fast as we can.”
Pavel snapped the mirror shut. “We’ll run them off. The troll is already taken care of. There are four of us and… several of them. Divide and conquer.”
Elena sighed. She slipped off her boots and shrugged off her leather jacket, handing it to Bridger. “Don’t let it get any more ruined than it already is,” she said.
Bridger slipped it on. “Yes, ma’am.”
She cracked her neck from side to side. “I get the kitty cat. I want a rematch. There’s only room for one beast in this town.” She spread her fingers, and her nails grew into claws. Hair rippled up her arms and back, and her fangs elongated. She grew taller, agile and powerful, bones cracking, sinew stretching, body shaping itself into something terrifying and beautiful. The hem of her jeans ripped as her calf muscles bulged and her feet grew into paws.
“Holy shit,” Astrid whispered.
“Okay. Elena will drive away the Beast of Bladenboro and keep an eye out for anything else that approaches. Just howl. Astrid, the unicorn needs to be lured away. Bridger and I have done this before and it worked. Are you a—”
“Bridger.”
An icy chill swept down Bridger’s spine. He gasped. He clutched Elena’s leather jacket around him. The hag was gliding toward their group. Her skin hung in tatters; her bones were visible. One arm was bent at a weird angle—the consequence of their last encounter. Her milky white eyes locked onto him, and he trembled.
She smiled, her bloodless lips pulling back over broken teeth. “Bridger.”
Lifting her head, she sucked the rest of the light out of the street lamps, leaving the small group in darkness save for the shaky circle of light from Astrid’s flashlight. He shook with fear and with the tangible memory of her power. This was no social call, no ulterior motive to help a hero. This was revenge, and she laughed, harsh and grating, the sound of it filling his ears, his head, his thoughts.
Astrid stepped between them. She leveled her hockey stick at the hag. “Change of plans. I’ve got this bitch.”
“Are you sure?” Pavel asked.
Astrid narrowed her eyes. “Yes.”
“Fine. Bridger—”
“Unicorn. Got it.”
“No,” Pavel said with a shake of his head. “Leo.”
Bridger’s mouth went dry. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. “What?”
“They are here because of him, drawn here. If you can get Leo to leave—”
Bridger pointed at the stadium, the bright lights, the swelling cheers. “He’s in the middle of a game! How am I going to get him to leave?”
“I don’t know! Tempt him. Break up with him. Just do something.”
“What if I screw up?”
Pavel grabbed Bridger by the shoulders. Goo dripped onto Elena’s jacket and burned a small hole into the leather. “Be brave.”
Bridger nodded, heart in his throat. “I can’t—”
“You can. You have to. Bridger, our world depends on it. Depends on you. And you don’t have a lot of time.”
Bridger gulped. He nodded. “I can… I can be brave.”
“Good. Now run!”
“Bridger,” the hag called.
Bridger’s whole body tensed. He heard the thwack of a hockey stick and a weird noise that had to be from the manticore, but he couldn’t stay. He had to be brave. With Leo.
He’d rather face the unicorn again.
Bridger ran back to the entrance of the stadium, shoes slipping and sliding on the wet paths. Adrenaline was a solid presence in his veins, pushing his body beyond its limits. When this was all over, he was going to have a hot bath and scrub the scent of troll off his skin. But first, he had to figure out how to get to the field level. Through the locker rooms?
Dodging the PTA members standing vigilantly at the entrance, Bridger found the home team’s locker room and slid inside unnoticed. He ran through, tripping over gear, banging into lockers, until he reached the exit to the field. Emerging under the bright stadium lights blinded him, and he threw up his hand to see where he was: in the middle of a squad of cheerleaders. Great. They yelled at him as he messed up their routine, and he shouted apologies as he danced past and beelined for the team bench.
What was he going to do? How was he going to fix this? It was his fault. If he’d just listened to Pavel the first time. But Grandma Alice had said Pavel didn’t know everything. Myths had cycles, but they were unpredictable. Which was it? Patterns or chaos? Cycles or disorder?
He had to act. Trust his instincts. Grandma Alice said that, too. Fake it until you make it—which Pavel seemed to use as a life motto.
Be brave. Make it to the sideline. Find Leo and… do what exactly? What did be brave even mean? Be brave and break up with Leo and hope that was enough. Be brave and kidnap Leo from the field. Be brave and…
The scoreboard clock ticked down. Only a few minutes were left in the game. The entire world of myth and magic hinged on Bridger figuring out what to do.
Be brave.
The other team’s offense was on the field, which meant Leo would be on the sideline. Bridger ran, tripping through the wet grass, until he made it to his team’s bench.
“Bridger?” Leo asked. He was covered in grass stains. His hair was matted with sweat. Helmet in hand, he stared at Bridger, eyebrows raised, mouth open. He was beautiful.
Bridger laughed.
“What are you doing down here? You can’t be on the sideline during a game.”
Bridger panted. He bent over his knees, gasping for air, completely unsure of what to do. His whole body trembled. He was a mess of rain and sweat and blood. And he couldn’t breathe.
Leo touched his shoulder. “Are you okay? Bridge? What is that smell?”
Bridger held up a hand. He sucked in a lungful of air, straightened, and stared right back at Leo.
“Hey,” he wheezed.
Leo smiled and shook his head. “The other team is about to punt. I’m going to go back on the field. The game is tied. I don’t have time for cute boys right now.”
“I’m sorry…” The game was tied? “I just… needed to be brave.”
“What?”
Bridger surged forward. He cupped Leo’s cheeks in his cold hands and slammed his mouth on Leo’s lips.
It was the most inelegant kiss in the history of kisses. In fact, Bridger was sure his mouth would be bruised. Leo stood stunned, unresponsive, and that was embarrassing, so Bridger pressed a little harder. He parted his lips and sighed when Leo kissed back. Leo kissed back!
A tingle of what felt like magic raced from Bridger’s head to his toes, swept down the length of his spine, skittered over his skin. Leo’s hand moved to twine in Bridger’s hair, and Bridger shuddered. Leo’s touch scorched and comforted, and Bridger couldn’t imagine a universe in which he didn’t kiss Leo, in which he didn’t know the taste of Leo’s lips.
They kissed until a referee blew a whistle.
“For luck,” Bridger said when he pulled away and dropped his hands.
Leo blinked. He reached up and touched his mouth. “For luck,” he echoed.
“Leo, what are you doing? Get on the field!”
Leo snapped out of his daze, shoved his helmet on, and ran to join his team.
The reality of what Bridger had done hit him. He had kissed Leo in front of the entire school, all of the parents—Leo’s parents specifically—the alumni, and an entire neighboring high school. Also, he had doomed the myth world to being discovered.
“Hey, you, get off the sideline. You don’t belong down here!”
Coach must not have recognized him with his hood pulled up and looking like a member of the undead, which was good. He didn’t need recognition. Bridger left the sideline and made his way back through the locker rooms and to the spectator entrance of the field. He found an empty spot outside of the stadium gate on a hill where he had a clear view of the scoreboard. He watched as the minutes continued to tick down.
What had he done? Holy crap. He had kissed Leo. Leo kissed back. In front of everyone. That was the opposite of what he needed to do.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and felt Elena’s mirror.
Looking around, he yanked it out and flipped it open. “Please call Pavel.” His hands trembled. His gut clenched. He’d messed up. He’d condemned everyone.
The mirror lit up, but no one answered. Bridger’s eyes watered. Oh, no. He needed to get back to them. He needed to—
A roar went up from the crowd. Wait, that wasn’t a cheer. They were booing. Bridger snapped his head up.
The other team had scored.
The clock ran out.
The buzzer sounded.
Midden High lost the game.