by F. T. Lukens
Pavel made a panicked noise in his throat. The cup of tea in his hand wobbled. “Did she find the field book?”
“No, as luck would have it, I accidentally left it here. Not the point though. Totally not the point. The point is that if she goes to Wexford today because of that stupid paper—”
A toaster rang.
It sounded like an old rotary phone from a black and white TV sitcom. The toaster danced along the counter until it fell off the edge. Frozen, the trio watched as it vibrated along the floor. With mounting horror, Bridger stared as a picture flashed across the polished reflective surface. Another toaster twitched, rang out, fell, then another, and another.
Paling, Pavel grabbed one from the counter, and held the convulsing toaster in both hands. Brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, he examined it.
“Well then, either she is going to meet an irritated and potentially homicidal Dogman, or, judging by the number of alarms, she already has.” Pavel dropped the toaster. “Bridger, to the portal. Astrid, call Elena on the mirror and stay here. We will need both of you before the night is over.”
Bridger grabbed his mirror from his bag and slid it into his pocket. He tossed his backpack through the door of Pavel’s study, then followed Pavel up the stairs and to the portal’s resting place. The mannequin stood in the corner but now wore a jacket and scarf and a hat jauntily tilted on its neck stump.
“No less creepy,” Bridger said, as Pavel flung the door open.
“Really? I thought the clothes gave it a kind of charm.”
“No. Anyway, to Larry.”
Pavel addressed the portal as he shrugged on a dark blue jacket and shoved a baseball cap on his head. “To Larry. Please. Wexford County.”
The terrifying, magic, liquid mass of swirling darkness quivered. Pavel grabbed Bridger’s hand, and together they stepped through.
Bridger didn’t think he’d ever get used to traveling via portal. It was the same experience each time, warmth and pressure, and then being squeezed out the other side with the sound of a champagne cork.
Popping into the middle of a cornfield into a summer rainstorm was not Bridger’s idea of a great time, especially when what awaited them were the bright headlights of a car. The weather was worse in Wexford, and the clouds rolled above them, blocking out the sun and casting the entire area in apocalyptic low light—except for the headlights, which blinded him.
He threw up his hands just in time for Pavel to tackle him to the ground. They landed with a squelch.
“Ow!” Bridger’s shoulder screamed in pain, while Pavel scrabbled to standing, placing his body between the car and Bridger on the ground. “What the hell was that for, Pavel?”
“I thought it was headed straight for us. Except…” His long coat whipped around his thin, jeans-clad legs in the rising wind. “…it isn’t moving.”
Bridger pushed to his knees. “Is it even running?”
“I don’t hear the engine.”
Between the rain and the blinding effect of the headlights, it was difficult to gauge the distance, but the car appeared to be on the other end of the field. Bridger gained his feet and followed Pavel as he trudged across the landscape. Pavel approached the vehicle as he would a wild animal, slowly, turning as he inspected it, hands in his pockets, lightly stepping between low, green cornstalks. “No, it’s not idling. But the door is open.” He reached in and turned the key, killing the lights.
Blinking away the bright spots, Bridger rubbed his eyes. “Thanks. Why is there a car in the middle of a cornfield?”
“I don’t know. But the portal brought us here for a reason. Larry must be nearby.”
“Hey!” Summer appeared between the rows of fledgling corn, batting the stalks away as she thundered toward them. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she wore overalls and thick-heeled boots. And as she tore her way through the field, in one hand, slowly dampening in the spring rain, was a stapled bundle of white paper.
“Hey yourself!” Bridger shouted, and thunder rumbled above them. “That’s my folklore paper.”
She ignored him. “Why did you turn off the lights?” She waved the paper in Pavel’s face. “I’m trying to disorient it.”
“Him,” Pavel corrected. “Him. And you are in grave danger, Miss Lore, and need to leave the area immediately.”
“Oh, no,” she shook her head and wagged a manicured finger in Pavel’s face. “No, no. I am here to see the Dogman. I know it exists. Just like that magic oval did. Just like the ghost at the bakery. And the Ada Witch? Am I right? Because a cemetery attendant described a man who visits every month and that description matched you down to the tassels on your loafers.”
Bridger smacked his face.
“Miss Lore, I know this all seems very exciting and—”
“Oh, cram it, Doctor Who. I’m not leaving until I catch this beast on my cell phone camera.” She held up her phone. Rain beaded along the case. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Wait!” Bridger yelled. “You don’t understand. That paper is not true. Okay? It’s full of half-truths, and you can’t trust it.”
“Oh, really? Like I can trust you two?”
“No. I wouldn’t trust us either,” Bridger said. “I’d get in my car and leave.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what you want me to do.”
Pavel nodded. “Yes. Precisely.”
The rain increased as Pavel and Summer continued their verbal sparring, and Bridger went from damp to soaked, even with his hood up. No amount of rubbing his sleeve across his face could catch all the drops. Amid the sound of raindrops on the fat green leaves of the corn, Bridger caught a frantic rustling noise to his right. He went still, listening, his hair standing on end. He inched closer to Pavel and elbowed him in the side.
“Pavel,” he said, jerking his chin. “There’s something over there.”
A bright flash of lightning forked through the sky, and a few seconds later thunder boomed across the flat landscape. A rabbit shot out from the stalks and zig-zagged across the field.
Bridger exhaled and wilted.
Summer smirked. “What? The confidant of witches and ghosts is scared of a little bun—”
An inhuman scream rent the air.
Bridger jumped and grabbed Pavel’s arm. Summer yelped, then clapped her hand over her mouth. Her pink fingernails dug into the skin of her cheeks.
The sound came again. The ground under them shook like an earthquake. The corn leaves rattled. Something shot through the stalks in front of them, then behind them, and on both sides. Bridger squeezed closer to Pavel as the creature circled, running around them again and again, coming closer with each pass. The creature was like the wind creating a tornado funnel, spinning and spinning, flattening the rows of corn. In a flash of lightning, Bridger caught a glimpse of The Michigan Dogman, his black fur, the shadow and shape of his human torso and canine body, and the bright blue of his eyes. Bridger’s heart lodged in his throat.
“Bridger,” Pavel said, low, even, calm, despite the fact that an irritated supernatural creature ran around them, tightening its circle every time it passed. “When I tell you, take Miss Lore and run. To the portal.”
“Pavel,” Bridger’s voice was a breath, barely heard over the sound of the pounding rain. “That’s all the way across the field.”
“Then run fast.”
Bridger grasped Summer’s wrist in his clammy hand. “What are you going to do?” he asked.
“Magic.”
Larry came closer, his huge body tearing through the corn. Bridger could only see a black blur in the storm, but he could hear the way his body slashed through the crop and the heavy pants of his breath. He ran in front of them, circled to their left, and must have forgotten the car was there.
Larry slammed into the rear quarter-panel just as another fork of lightning tore t
hrough the darkening sky. The car spun and juddered in the mud; suddenly as dangerous as the creature itself, it became a sliding vehicle of death.
“Run!”
Bridger took off. He dragged Summer through the flattened corn toward the portal.
“The car is that way!” Summer screeched.
“So is the Dogman!”
“But your research,” she said, flailing the paper next to Bridger’s face, “says we should stand our ground.”
“Don’t cite my own dumbass paper at me! Pavel said to run. We’re running.”
Summer wrenched out of Bridger’s grip. “No! You lied to me last time.” She turned on her heel, slipped on the wet ground, and ran back the other way.
“What are you doing?” Bridger scrambled after her. His face and hands stung from the pelting rain; every muscle was coiled like a compressed spring. He caught up to Summer just in time for them both to witness Pavel use his intermediary magic to create a shield between him and Larry.
Larry swiped a massive claw at Pavel’s head only to bounce off a shimmering bubble and fly backward. The bubble reminded Bridger of the ward on the front door of the house: a protective measure, for defense not offense.
“What the hell? You can wield magic?” Summer yelled over the storm.
Pavel looked behind him. “I told you to run!”
Larry gathered his legs beneath him, and his attention turned from Pavel to Summer and Bridger.
“For the record,” Bridger said, tugging on the back of Summer’s overalls, “I don’t have magic defenses.”
“Oh,” she said as Larry stalked forward. “Do you have any ideas?”
“No!”
Pavel shot out his hand and sparks flew from his fingers into Larry’s eyes. Larry roared, claws tearing at his snout and face, but the pyrotechnics fizzled quickly. It was enough to distract Larry long enough for Bridger to shove Summer to the side.
“Split up!”
She took off in one direction and Bridger the other. He tore through the young, green stalks of corn; the leaves whipped him in his knees and thighs. He ran with no direction in mind other than safety. He’d have to curve around, head back to the portal and Pavel. He hoped Summer would run for her car, but he couldn’t count on it, not when she was hellbent on catching Larry on her camera.
Pumping his arms, heart racing, Bridger snuck a glance behind him. Two ice-blue eyes followed him in the dark, as did the sound of growling and the beat of paws on sodden ground.
Oh, shit. Think, Bridger. Think.
Okay, outrunning a Dogman was not going to happen. He steadily gained and left a wake of flattened corn. Bridger was going to have to do something drastic and stupid.
Well, here’s goes something. Bridger skidded to a stop and spun around. Larry barreled toward him, all fur and muscle and a snout of sharp, pointy teeth.
Oh, crap. He hoped Leo would remember him fondly, because this suddenly was a no-good, very-bad idea. No time to rethink. Larry’s strides ate up the distance in a blink.
Joints locked, muscles trembling, Bridger gripped his slick phone and waited. At the last second, he brandished it and switched on the flashlight. He shined it in Larry’s eyes—just a flash. Larry howled. He stopped, paws sliding in the mud, momentum carrying him forward, but now slowly enough for Bridger to get out of the way.
Bridger rolled to right, careening, Larry clipped his shoulder hard. His claws raked down Bridger’s side. Bridger tumbled over and over in the mud, destroying corn, legs flailing, arms tucked into his sides. He was the equivalent of a runaway train without a track, all kinetic energy and destructive force, until he finally slid to an ungainly stop.
Every inch of his body was bruised, and his side was on fire, but at least he wasn’t being chased. Raising his head, Bridger swiped away the mud on his forehead and surveyed the landscape. A flash of lightning revealed no sign of Larry, but that didn’t mean much. He had to get back to the portal. He had to find Pavel.
Pushing to his hands and knees, Bridger fished out his compact. He flipped it open.
“Call Pavel, please.”
Ears straining, he didn’t hear Pavel’s ring, but his reflection wavered, and the mirror glowed. Pavel appeared, a worried furrow between his brows, face paled and smeared with mud.
“Bridger, where are you?” he whispered.
“I don’t know. Not anywhere near the portal. What about you?” Bridger kept his voice low as he stood, head swiveling in hopes that Larry had decided chasing teenagers was boring for a Thursday night and had left.
“By the car.”
“I don’t know how to get back.”
“Hold on.” The view in the mirror tilted, and Bridger spied the damage to the car—a mangled quarter panel and a torn-off bumper. He heard the engine, both over the mirror and echoing across the corn and saw lights flashing. “Do you see the lights?”
“Yes.”
An inhuman howl broke through the distant rumbles of the passing storm. Bridger startled. The howl wasn’t too far from where they had collided. His heart stuttered.
“That caught Larry’s attention,” Pavel said. “Meet me at the portal as soon as you can.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in a flash.”
Based on the location of the lights, Bridger figured out the general vicinity of the portal, and sprinted in that direction. Everything hurt, especially the gashes along his ribs, and he was going to have a pointed conversation with Elena about her friend, Larry the dick. He needed a bath and maybe stitches and some of the pixie’s magic salve to soothe away his aches.
He dodged a particularly thick clump of corn and plowed over a cowering Summer. He kept his feet, somehow, but jarred his side. Sucking in a painful breath, he disentangled from her.
Wet strands of hair hung in her face. Her eyes were wide; her complexion was ashen. She shook as she clutched Bridger’s hoodie.
“You ran,” she accused.
“Yeah, like my boss said to, genius.”
He pried her hands off his arm.
“You pushed me.”
“And he followed me, not you.”
She grabbed his hand again; her nails dug into his skin. “Don’t leave me.”
“I’m angry, not an asshole. Just come on.”
Annoyed, Bridger dragged Summer with him, tugging at her to keep up as he jogged. Soon he heard the comforting hum of the doorway through space-time and relaxed when he saw the oval of magic floating a few yards away.
Of course, Larry was smarter than Elena had given him credit for and he stalked the line between the portal and the car. He lumbered on all fours, waiting for their inevitable arrival.
Summer whimpered, gripping Bridger’s shoulders as if he was a life preserver and she was a passenger on the Titanic. However, no amount of fear would keep Summer from getting her story, apparently, and she raised her phone next to Bridger’s ear.
He smacked her arm down. “Are you serious,” he hissed.
Larry’s head snapped up, and he zeroed in on Bridger and Summer. He snarled and prowled toward them—a dangerous mass of brute force and sinew. He stood on his hind legs, backlit by the gloomy sky, and loomed over them. His muscled human torso flexed; water droplets hung from his coarse hair. His claws gleamed in the flashes of lightning, and his blue eyes burned in the darkness. His lips pulled back over his sharp, white teeth; strings of saliva frothed along his jowls.
They were going to die. There was no way around it.
And, in their last moments, Summer raised her phone and took a picture. The flash sputtered in the darkness. If they hadn’t been about to be murdered, Bridger would have seriously considered doing it himself.
Larry flinched, and growled, long, low, and terrifying. He spoke, the words indecipherable, guttural, and furious.
Bridger took a step back, and his h
eel caught on a trampled corn stalk. His ankle rolled, and his other foot slipped in a mud puddle, and, despite latching onto Summer’s arm, he fell. She toppled onto him; her elbow dug into his sweaty armpit. Delightful.
This was it. Despite running and hiding and his daring action-movie move, Bridger was going to be mauled to death by an angry werewolf wannabe, all because of a research paper he had to write for folklore class—and a reporter, who squirmed next to him in a soggy cornfield.
Larry raised a massive paw. Summer yelped. Bridger squeezed his eyes shut.
He heard a cut-off howl and a thump.
Jolting upright, Bridger watched with wide eyes as he saw Larry wrestling with a bear. Was that a massive black bear? It was! And it was angry.
A blur of fur and fangs rolled in front of them clearing their path to the portal. The sound of snarls and howls and yelps was ferocious, and Bridger watched, stunned, as Larry was absolutely owned by the completely random but appreciated bear.
“Bridger!” Pavel yelled, standing in front of the portal. “Come on!”
Staggering to his feet, Bridger hobbled toward Pavel, Summer a burr stuck to his back.
“What, what happened? I’m so confused.”
“You’re bleeding,” Pavel said, gesturing at the wounds on Bridger’s side. He peeled back the shredded cloth of Bridger’s hoodie. “We need to get you to the pixies.”
“There’s pixies?” Summer muttered, dumbfounded, probably in shock, still clutching her phone.
“You first.” Bridger jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Is that a bear? What the hell? Did you summon that thing with your magic?”
Pavel cocked his head; his forehead creased with concern, and his lips thinned. “It’s Midnight Marvel.”
“Marv? That’s Marv? Marv!”
The black bear paused its assault on Larry and eyed Bridger with bright yellow eyes. Larry squirmed beneath Marv’s massive paws and slipped from beneath her, scurried away, then abruptly turned and charged toward the trio.
Pavel shoved Bridger to the portal. “Go through!” Pavel yelled. “I’ll hold Larry off!”