Chapter 4
Bridger woke up on the beach.
His body jerked, and he rolled to the side and threw up what seemed like a gallon of lake water. He coughed and sputtered and shook. His chest heaved. His hands clenched in the sand. He sucked in air and retched again. Water streamed from his nose. He gasped and choked until he spat out more of the lake. He heard familiar voices, but he kept his eyes closed and focused on breathing. His throat burned, and so did the backs of his eyes.
He had drowned. He had drowned. Something had drowned him.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
Someone touched his shoulder and he flinched.
“Give him room.” Pavel? That was Pavel’s voice. What the hell was he doing here?
“Is he going to be okay?” Leo sounded close to hysteria. Bridger could relate.
“Bridge?” Astrid asked softly. “Bridge, open your eyes so I know you’re not dead.”
He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead. Hallelujah! Praise whatever god was listening. He was not dead.
Bridger groaned. Sand stuck to his skin. His chest stuttered on every inhale and exhale, and his throat hurt, and his eyes were glued shut. But he was alive. And he threw up in front of Leo. His crush witnessed him barfing, which, he knew from experience, was awful.
Everything was awful.
Ugh.
“He’s bleeding. Did you call an ambulance?”
Leo again.
And crap, he was bleeding? He remembered the claws of the thing in the water and he remembered the pain.
“I called his mom,” Astrid said. “But I didn’t get an answer.”
Crap, his mom. She was going to freak.
“I can take him to the hospital.”
“Who are you again?”
“I’m his boss,” Pavel replied at the same time Bridger mouthed, “He’s my boss.” No one heard him or, if they did, they didn’t react.
“I think Zeke called an ambulance.”
Bridger groaned again. He opened his eyes and shut them instantly because the sun was too bright.
“Bridge?” Astrid said again. She gently touched the back of his neck. Her hands were warm on his clammy skin, and he could feel the fine tremors in her fingers.
“I’m fine,” Bridger said. His voice was a croak. His torso felt the way it had that time he let Astrid lace him into a princess dress during that misguided game of truth or dare. “Well, I mean, I’m not fine. But I’m alive. Breathing. Kind of.” He took a breath to prove that he could. “What happened?”
“There was something in the water. Like… a thing,” Leo said. “I don’t know what it was, but it scratched Lacey, too. And you went under, and we couldn’t find you, and this dude shows up.”
“Pavel,” Pavel corrected. “I was driving by and heard the screaming.”
Yeah, that was a lie. Pavel really was the worst liar. Bridger would have to call him on it—when he could talk again without fear of puking.
“Leo and Pavel pulled you out.”
Okay. What? Bridger had to open his eyes for that one. He rolled in the sand, pushed his body to sitting, and drew his knees up to rest his elbows on them. He let his head hang forward. Someone draped a towel over his shoulders. He slowly opened his eyes. His hair flopped in his face, stuck in wet strands to his forehead and cheeks, and hindered his view. He knuckled it out of the way and rubbed his face with the back of his hand.
He looked up and found Pavel, Astrid, and Leo huddled close around him.
Leo brushed sand from Bridger’s cheek. Bridger shivered at the touch. Leo also had a towel wrapped around his waist, and his face was drawn into an expression of fear and concern. He bled from a scratch on his arm.
Next to him knelt Astrid, her eyeliner smudged, her face pale, but her cheeks red. She gripped Bridger’s hand. Bridger offered her a small smile, and she returned it while wiping away the tear that spilled down the apple of her cheek.
Pavel was soaked; his thrift store chic was drenched and clinging to him.
Bridger squirmed under the scrutiny. He ducked his head and absently tugged at the towel around his leg to staunch the bleeding. Astrid batted his hand away.
“Don’t. That’s the worst of them. Leave it alone.”
“What is it?”
“A bite, we think,” Leo said. “Or maybe you were scratched by fins? Or jellyfish? We’re not sure, but you have them on your back, too. Did you see anything?”
At Leo’s question, Pavel, his green eyes bright, his eyebrows drawn down in worry, knelt in front of Bridger. “What did you see?” he asked. “In the water.”
And for the first time in his life, Bridger knew better than to joke. He also, somehow, knew not to tell the truth. This was serious, but this wasn’t for the group, this wasn’t for the others to hear. This was between him and Pavel. This had to do with the door and with Elena and with the voices in the walls. Pavel stared, his body language tense, his hands clenched.
Bridger swallowed and remembered the sharp triangular teeth, the bluish-green skin, the claws, the lake-weed hair, and the unnaturally large round eyes that had watched him struggle under the water.
“I didn’t see anything.”
Pavel’s relief was nearly imperceptible, but Bridger looked for it, expected it. Pavel dropped his gaze, and the stiffness bled from his frame.
Oh, they would be having a talk. A very loud and necessary talk. One might even call it a confrontation. Once Bridger had his voice back.
The sirens of an ambulance grew in volume. They shattered the relative peace of the beach.
Bridger sighed.
“I’ll get out of your way,” Pavel said. “I’m glad you’re all right.” Then Pavel left, his shoes squeaking as he walked, leaving a soggy trail after him.
“That’s your boss?” Astrid asked, seeming incredulous.
“Yeah, don’t ask.”
“You have a reprieve since, you know, you drowned and all, Cap.”
“Thanks, Bucky.”
Leo hovered near Bridger’s shoulder. “Are you okay? Really? Because you disappeared under the water, and I couldn’t find you. And….” Leo trailed off. “I invited you.”
Bridger laughed. He couldn’t help it. He laughed, and it hurt, and he wrapped his arms around his ribs.
“Oh, my God, do you feel guilty because you invited me?”
Leo shrugged. “Yeah, I do.”
“Too cute,” Bridger said. He took Leo’s hand in his own. He had nearly drowned; he was feeling brave, and giddy, and a little out of it, but mostly brave. And he could always deny it later and chalk it up to oxygen deprivation.
The ambulance pulled up, and Leo squeezed Bridger’s hand. It was a perfect moment.
“Your mom is calling,” Astrid said, holding up her phone.
Bridger nodded. Yes, a perfect short-lived moment. Of course. “Awesome.”
“I can’t believe they don’t know what it was!” Bridger’s mom said as she threw open the door to the house. “What could it have been? A lake monster? An underwater dog? A fish with claws?”
Oh, how close she was to the truth.
Bridger limped into the house. His entire lower leg was one big bandage. His body ached from smaller cuts. And his throat hurt.
“I don’t know, Mom,” he said, falling onto the couch. “I honestly didn’t see anything.”
She sighed loudly. “I know. I know. I’m still working off the adrenaline.”
Bridger had ridden in the ambulance to the hospital. His mother had met him there. He’d spent the last hours poked and prodded. He was exhausted. He was hungry. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t freaked out.
He was really freaked out. Astrid had already texted him. So had Leo. Pavel had saved him. Leo had held his hand. He had almost drowned. It had been a roller-coaster of a day.
“Are you hungry, kid? I’m sorry that we don’t have much here, but I could order out? Do you want a sub from Marco’s? Or General Tso’s?”
“Chinese would be great.”
“Okay,” she said, fluttering around him. “I’ll call it in. Do you need anything else? A blanket? A pillow? Cookies?”
His mother’s phone rang, and she stepped out of the room to answer it.
Bridger sank into the cushions, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes. He had questions, so many questions. And the only person capable of answering them was Pavel.
“No, I’m not coming in. I’m sorry, but my kid almost died at the beach today. You’ll have to get someone else.”
Bridger perked up when she came back into the room. Under normal circumstances, a secret little thrill would’ve shot through him at the idea of his mother taking off work to hang out with him, but not this time. He had an idea.
“You can go, Mom. It’s okay.”
“No way. Absolutely no way. The hospital can live without me for one night.”
“Seriously. I’m okay.” Bridger shifted on the couch and hid the grimace when pain shot up his leg. “I don’t want you to get into trouble because I was a dumbass at the beach today.”
“I’m not going to get into trouble,” she said, sitting next to him. “At least, I don’t think I will.”
“Mom, it’s okay. I’ll be fine. I didn’t stop breathing. I didn’t aspirate. I passed out and puked, which, while not ideal, isn’t the worst that could’ve happened. You’re a nurse. You know that.”
She stood and paced again, gripping her phone, occasionally glancing at it. He almost had her. Time to go for the kill… not literally.
“Astrid is going to come over. She wants to hang out with me because she’s kind of freaked. We’ll be fine for the night, and her mom and dad will be a phone call away.”
Liar, liar, pants engulfed in flames.
His mom bit her lip. She looked at her phone and traced her thumb around the edge. “Are you sure you’ll be okay? Because I am not going to leave if you even think you might need me.”
“I’m seventeen. My best friend is basically an adult. We’re going to eat Chinese food and watch bad movies, and she’ll bug me about taking the pain medication and the antibiotics. Honestly, Mom, we’re about as exciting as two grandparents.”
His mom smirked. “Hey, I know what your Great Grandma Dot got up to in the nursing home. That’s probably not a good example.”
“Ew! Gross!” Bridger gagged.
His mom laughed.
“Okay, you can’t be too damaged if you’re being dramatic. I’ll call them back and go in.” She rummaged through her wallet and dropped cash on the coffee table. “For food.”
“Thanks.”
His mom kissed the crown of his head. Bridger acted affronted, but he didn’t mind. His mom needed the reassurance, and so did he.
Bridger acted like the perfect child while his mom got ready, but as soon as the car pulled out of the driveway, Bridger was on his feet. He grabbed his backpack and swung it over his shoulder. He grabbed his key and locked the house behind him.
It was late afternoon, and the sun was sinking toward the horizon. His leg really did hurt, and his throat was still sore, but Bridger was resolute. He walked to the end of the block and crossed the side street to the bus stop. He didn’t have to wait long and he hopped on.
During the ride, Bridger’s initial curiosity waned, and anger began a slow burn in his gut.
He could’ve died.
He’d had to stay at the hospital all day. His mom was understandably freaked out. Astrid cried. She had cried! She hadn’t done that since Kitty McKitKat had run away in eighth grade.
By the time the bus screeched to a stop at the corner near the office, Bridger’s pulse thumped hard in his temple, and his adrenaline was scorching through his veins. Despite his wound, he walked with a determined stride to the weird house at the end of the block.
The house looked different in the twilight. It didn’t sit on the street like a charming, mismatched architectural oddity. Instead, it loomed over the quiet street like a watchtower, a creepy haunted guardian. If he wasn’t so angry, he’d be running in the other direction and telling the neighborhood kids, huddled in groups on Halloween, not to approach the house with the stairs like teeth and the curtains that wafted on breezeless nights.
Bridger took a minute to evaluate how he was going to approach this. The windows were pitch black, except for one shining on the third floor. The lower level was locked up tight, and Mindy’s car was gone. Okay, so waltzing in was out.
On to drastic measures. Bridger threw caution to the wind—well, more like hurled caution at a tornado and picked up recklessness and juggled it with stupidity—and marched up to the front door. He didn’t knock. No, he was beyond knocking. He banged his fist on the wood.
“Pavel!” He tried the knob and jiggled, rattling the door in the frame. He even slammed his shoulder against it. “Pavel! It’s me! Open up! I know you’re in there!”
No immediate response, but Bridger was undaunted.
He backed off the porch and stared up at the single lit window.
“I will climb the side of this house! I know how to do it! Don’t think I won’t!”
Bridger stopped and watched and waited.
Nothing.
Bridger frowned. Anger burned through him. Oh, this was not on. This would not stand. This was about honor, now, and the memory of Kitty McKitKat.
“I know about the mermaids!”
The front porch light immediately switched on, and the front door swung inward.
Pavel stood on the welcome mat and glared. He wore a tattered robe over a pair of truly hideous pajamas.
“Inside, before you bother the neighbors,” he commanded, his accent clipped, but stronger than usual.
Bridger didn’t hesitate. He pushed his way past Pavel into the foyer and stopped at Mindy’s empty desk. He turned on his heel and crossed his arms.
Pavel closed the door and locked it behind him.
And Bridger suddenly realized what a no good, awful idea this was. No one knew where he was. He was injured and now he was locked in with a person who might, for all intents and purposes, be insane. And Bridger had just accused him of knowing about mermaids.
Well, shit.
“That’s what they were, wasn’t it?”
Pavel’s shoulders slumped. He ran a hand through his mussed hair and sighed. In that moment, he aged years.
And… that wasn’t hyperbole. Pavel actually aged in front of Bridger’s eyes. He went from a thirty-something weirdly dressed aloof boss to something different… older… maybe not physically, but his whole aura changed. It was like the first time Bridger had walked through the door; he felt it, the tingle of electricity, a spark of… magic.
Bridger was struck by something Elena had said to him when she had pinned him against the wall the other day.
“What are you?”
Pavel rubbed his eyes. “I’m tired. And I have a cup of tea upstairs that I’d like to get back to. You may join me if you want.”
Bridger flicked his gaze to the staircase. He heard a high-pitched giggle.
“What’s up there?”
“I’m giving you a choice,” Pavel said, not answering. “You can leave and never look back and forget what happened today, what you saw. You can go on your merry way and find another job, live a normal life.”
Bridger narrowed his eyes. “Or?”
“Or you can come have tea with me.”
Bridger dropped his crossed arms. His gaze darted between Pavel and the stairs. He bit his lip. He had plans. He had carefully laid plans. He had college to look forward to. He had stuff to figure out, life-changing decisions to make, options to consider, labels to try to see if they fit.
He could leave. The whole drowning incident could be an icebreaker to recount in a freshman mixer, a funny story he could share about how his first crush on a guy ended with him barfing up lake water on his crush’s sandals.
But… mermaids.
“I like honey in my tea.”
Pavel nodded, resigned, as if he’d known Bridger’s decision all along. He gestured at the stairs. “I’m fairly certain we have honey.”
“We?” Bridger asked as he took the first step upward.
Pavel’s mouth lifted in an exhausted half-smile, and the hallway filled with shrill laughter.
The third floor of the house was Pavel’s living space. At one end of the landing was a hallway, which led to a master bedroom and a bathroom. On the other end sat a kitchen and a study with overstuffed chairs and a small table. The kitchen could only be described as organized chaos. It was filled with appliances, several of which were toasters, and snack-cake wrappers. Bridger picked up a tea towel between his fingers, and glitter spilled out and fluttered all over the floor. Pavel merely shrugged when Bridger lifted an eyebrow.
“My tenants aren’t the best at cleanliness.”
“Am I going to meet these tenants?”
Pavel beckoned Bridger to follow him into the study and gestured toward a high-backed leather chair. Bridger sat and squirmed, and the chair squeaked beneath him.
“In a moment. I know they’re practically bursting to meet you.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Bridger said, though that was a lie—a total lie. He was terrified, and the fact that his teacup was dancing on the saucer as he held it was evidence. He put his tea on the table, because adding hot water burns to the injuries of the day was not high on his list. He rubbed his clammy palms up and down his thighs. The scratch of the worn denim was comforting, grounding in a weird way.
His world view was about to change, and he wasn’t ready for it. Okay, another lie. He’d been trying to change his world view since he hit high school. It had tilted once this year when Leo moved in across the street, and Bridger’s eyes opened to the very real possibility that he was attracted to guys as well as girls.
But this was different. Wasn’t it?
“I’m an intermediary,” Pavel said, after taking a sip of his tea, “between your world and the world of myth.”
Bridger leaned forward, sat on the edge of his seat, and waited for Pavel to keep talking, but all he did was take another sip of his tea.
“So you’re like a medium?”
“No,” Pavel said. He shook his head. “Well, maybe, a bit. It’s more than ghosts and the other side, but I do talk to a spirit or ghoul from time to time. I help myths and cryptids and other magical beings coexist with humans.”
“That’s it?”
Pavel’s forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean, that’s it? It’s a very difficult job or, well, sometimes it is. Right now, it’s downright hectic. I told Mindy I could handle it but no, she demanded I find an assistant. That woman! You get speared by one manticore tail and pass out from blood loss and suddenly you’re unable to do your job.”
Bridger swallowed. “Manticore? Blood loss?”
“Yes. Manticores aren’t usually known to inhabit the North American continent, much less the Midwest, but the world has been strange since the end of summer.”
Rubbing his forehead, Bridger slumped forward and closed his eyes. His leg was killing him, and this conversation was going nowhere. “I am so confused.”
“You’re not explaining it well!” It was the shrill voice.
“You stay out of it, Nia. It’s not your place.”
“It is my place, Bran. Look, he’s confusing the poor child!”
Bridger heard the fluttering of wings, like an excited bird trapped in a dining room—he knew the sound from experience—along with the falsetto voices. He lifted his head and slammed backward into the leather. The chair rocked on two legs under the force of Bridger’s surprise, then fell forward with a heavy thud.
Two… people… small people with wings hovered over Pavel’s shoulders as if they were Pavel’s conscience—an angel and a devil. Holy shit, Bridger really was in a Faustian tale. They didn’t speak, but they had to be the owners of the voices in the walls.
One was blue and one was light purple, and they watched him with eyes too large for their faces. Bridger had a hard time looking directly at them; his gaze slid past their bodies and he ended up focusing on a point over their heads. They vibrated like hummingbirds, almost too fast for his eye to catch, but he could see them. They hung there, little wings beating furiously, and even the air around them changed, was filled with an aura of sparkles. The purple one flew closer, and with it wafted the smell of baking cookies and melted chocolate. When it hovered right in front of him, he could make out pointed ears and a tiny nose and mouth. It… wore a dress, but who was he to judge... and it pointed a finger in Bridger’s face.
“Look, he’s scared. I told you to tell him days ago, but no, you had to unload everything on his poor brain in one fell swoop.” It glided even closer, effortless, beautiful, magical. Bridger’s eyes crossed. “I think you broke his brain.”
“If anyone is breaking his brain, it’s you, Nia!”
“Oh, shut up, Bran!”
“No, you shut up!”
“No, you!”
“You!”
Pavel rolled his eyes. “Will you please both be quiet? You’re being rude.” Pavel addressed Bridger and simply said, “Siblings. She’s pushy and he’s sensitive and it makes for a disruptive situation at times.”
Nia huffed, annoyed. She crossed her tiny arms, flew back to Pavel, sat on the edge of his cup and crossed her legs.
“Faeries,” Bridger breathed.
The blue one—Bran—gasped and turned his head as though affronted. Nia stood, wings fluttering madly, and tossed her long purple hair over her shoulder. “How dare you! We are not associated with the folk.”
“We are forest pixies!” Bran said, his voice a screech. “We don’t live under the hill.”
Bridger flinched. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Well, now you do, and I would appreciate it if you use the correct term from this point forward.” Bran landed on the table and sat next to Nia.
“Oh… okay.”
“Oh, leave him alone, Bran. He’s had a traumatic day. Attacked by lake mermaids.” Nia’s expression went soft around the edges. “It must have been terrifying.”
“They didn’t attack him,” Pavel said.
That rattled Bridger back to reality… well, what passed for reality at the moment. “Didn’t attack me? I have a few wounds and a mortifying memory of throwing up on a cute boy’s sandals that says otherwise.”
“Yes, I know. I’m sorry, but it’s not their nature to attack. They’re normally peaceful creatures and only come to the surface to play.” Pavel drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair, then rubbed his eyes. “They’ve never attacked humans. They don’t even come close to the shore. I don’t understand.”
Pavel looked overwhelmed then: the circles under his eyes were more prominent, his frown dipped deeper. His age melted away and his visage was replaced with an uncertain young man. Nia flew up and patted Pavel’s arm. “It’s okay, Pasha. We’ll figure it out.” She nuzzled against his neck and offered comfort before flying back to sit with Bran, who was leaning against the teacup.
The exchange gave Bridger a case of secondhand embarrassment as he witnessed something intimate between friends or, more accurately, family members.
Pavel rubbed his eyes. “We have to.”
“Well, we have a new ally.” Bran thrust his tiny arms toward Bridger. “He’s not magical, but he could help!”
Bridger blinked. “I still don’t know what is going on!” He waved his arms. “I have questions! So many questions! And no answers! Literally no answers.”
Pavel sighed. “Ask away then.”
Bridger blurted the first thing that came to his mind. “Tell me about the door!”
Nia and Bran exchanged a glance, and Bran made a gesture that clearly meant he thought Bridger was insane. Pavel chuckled.
“The door is magically warded. Only two types of individuals can enter: those who are mythical creatures or those who have exited through the door.”
“So I had to climb the house, enter through the blue door, go out the front door, and then it would let me back in.”
“Yes, it knows you have permission to be in the house.”
Bridger furrowed his brow. “Does that mean Mindy had to climb the side of the house?” He tried to picture her in pink heels and perfectly coifed beehive hair scaling the rose lattice. Talk about scarring. “Or is she… like you?”
Pavel laughed. “No, she knocked on the door and demanded a ladder. I couldn’t argue and provided one, which she used to enter through the blue door. It was genius and a tad petrifying. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has harpy in her lineage.”
Huh. Bridger wished he had thought of that. “And the goo? It didn’t burn you.”
“Goo? Oh, the troll spit. No, it didn’t hurt me. I can walk in the worlds of men and myth. I can wield low-level magic and have built-in magical protection. It comes with the job.”
Troll spit. Bridger would have to ask more about that later.
“And what exactly is the job?”
Pavel picked up his teacup, and Nia fell backward on the table. A puff of glitter wafted up from where she landed. She glowered at Pavel, but he didn’t notice. He sipped his tea.
“I help myths when they run into problems. Maybe a faerie circle is threatened by a construction company. Or a lake monster wants to get in contact with his cousin across the pond. I intervene and help myths navigate a world that doesn’t accommodate them or, hell, even believe in them anymore. In return, they stay hidden. That’s the most important part. The human world can never know about the myth world, or both realms would dissolve into utter chaos.”
Bridger’s throat went dry. “Is this when you threaten me? ‘Tell anyone and I’ll find you and silence you’ kind of deal?”
Pavel made a face. Bran snickered. He sounded ridiculous.
“No. One person who knows is not a threat. You’ll merely sound absurd, and no one will believe you. That’s the nature of the world right now. Problems only arise if several people all report the same occurrence.”
“So if all the kids today at a beach claimed to see mermaids in the water then you’d have a problem.”
“Yes. But they didn’t. When you disavowed seeing anything, the young man and young woman who also saw the mermaids decided what they had seen must have been their imagination. It’s the way human brains are wired, dismissing the impossible right out of hand. You influenced them without even realizing it.”
Holy crap. Bridger reached for his own tea and stopped when he found Bran stirring it with his long, skinny arms and then licking the honey from his fingers. Nia sighed.
“What?” Bran said, slurping the tea from his cupped hand. “There’s honey.”
Nia let out a delighted shriek and dove in head first.
Bridger decided to hold off on the tea.
“How did you know I was in trouble?” Bridger fidgeted and the chair squeaked under him. He didn’t know the whole story yet, he’d have to ask Astrid later, but Pavel and Leo had pulled him from the water. He’d wager that Pavel was the one who knew where he was and that, without him, he’d be a stupid kid who swam out too far in the lake and drowned.
“I have an alarm system. It lets me know if there is trouble. And I have a portal that will drop me off close to where I need to be.”
Bridger perked up. A portal. That was awesome and handy. “Can I use it?”
“It’s attuned to only myself at this time, but possibly.”
Bridger slumped. So much for easy access to and from home. He yawned. Pain and exhaustion had crept in, and his phone had vibrated several times in his pocket. Probably Astrid and his mom checking in.
“It’s late,” Pavel said softly, “and you’ve had a trying day. You should go home.”
“Yeah,” Bridger agreed, “but what happens next? It’s obvious you’re in over your head, especially if Mindy emerged long enough from the games on her phone to put out an ad for an assistant. You can’t honestly want me to sort books for you when I could be helping you out.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Pavel responded in a strained tone. “I thought that had been proven to you already.”
“All that’s been proven is that I look like a fun plaything to a school of mermaids.”
“Pod,” Pavel corrected.
“Whatever! My point is that I’m in danger anyway. Don’t think I didn’t notice the day of the troll spit was also the day there was a disturbance on the interstate that made my mom late to get home from work. And Elena—werewolf right?—couldn’t control herself, and it was nowhere near the full moon. And you said yourself that the mermaids don’t normally approach humans. There’s something going on and running you ragged. You need me.”
Pavel’s eyebrows shot up. “Elena is the Beast of Bray Road, to be more accurate, but only on full moons. How did you know?”
“I watch a lot of Jeopardy,” Bridger replied, indignant. “And I read… things.” Don’t say fanfiction. Don’t say fanfiction. Don’t say fanfiction.
“Sleep on it,” Pavel said. “If you come back on Monday, we’ll talk.”
Nia flew up to Pavel’s eye level. “At least give him a mirror. Then you can contact him if you need to.”
Pavel pursed his lips, but acquiesced. He left the room, and Bridger followed. He waited patiently as Pavel rummaged in a drawer in the kitchen. He finally pulled out an object and slapped it in Bridger’s palm.
It was a makeup compact.
“What is this?”
“A mirror. You’ll need it.”
Bridger eyed it skeptically. “Fine.” He shoved it in his pocket. “I need to go if I’m going to catch the last bus.”
“I’ll drive you,” Pavel offered.
“Oh, that would be great, actually.”
Pavel didn’t change, merely tied his robe closed over his pajamas. He slipped his feet into bunny slippers. Bridger didn’t comment, but Nia and Bran giggled madly.
Pavel’s ancient car smoked from the exhaust and backfired so loud Bridger was surprised that the neighbors didn’t call the cops. The ride to Bridger’s house was made in exhausted silence punctuated by the loud rumble of the engine.
Bridger let himself in the house. He hadn’t eaten, but was too tired to do so. He trudged up the stairs, stripped off his clothes that smelled like hospital, and flopped in the bed. He returned the texts from his mom, lying and telling her he had fallen asleep, and the ones from Astrid, assuring her that he was fine. His stomach flipped when he found a text from Leo that said he’d had a nice time until the drowning.
Bridger laughed in spite of himself and shot back a smiling emoji.
Bridger drifted on the edge of sleep for a few long minutes as his mind replayed everything that had happened. The beach was almost too real in his memory, and the fear and desperation of being underwater left him shuddering. His conversation with Pavel, however, was blurred and fuzzy, almost as if it hadn’t happened at all.
The compact sitting on the edge of his bedside table was the only evidence that the confrontation had taken place. Without that, Bridger could almost convince himself that the whole thing was a dream.
He might not have minded that.
He fell asleep thinking about blue slippery skin, lake weed, and sharp claws, and the gentle fluff of pixie dust.