The Rules and Regulations for Mediating Myths & Magic

by F. T. Lukens

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 sur
face 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 f
rom 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.

  Chapter 5

  “Jesus, you look rough,” Astrid said when Bridger walked into school on Monday. “Have you slept, like ever?”

  “Well, hello to you, best friend. I’m fine, thank you. I had a great weekend that involved nightmares of water and death. Thanks for asking.” Bridger gave Astrid his best fake smile.

  Astrid frowned.

  “Ugh.” Bridger rested his forehead on his locker; the metal was cool against his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a breath. He hadn’t slept much since his conversation with Pavel about the nature of life, the universe, and everything. And, you know, the fact that all Bridger knew about the aforementioned was lacking in very important details. Pixies, mermaids, and manticores, oh my! His brain had been a weird place the past few days. His thoughts had vacillated between all things related to Leo and the fact that trolls were apparently real.

  “Wow, Bridge. You are on the verge of collapse.”

  “Punny.”

  Astrid huffed a laugh, then leaned next to him. “I didn’t mean to make fun of your name.”

  “So you’re unintentionally hilarious today.” Bridger was too exhausted to filter. It was going to be an interesting day, especially if he couldn’t dial it back during class. Were people who could predict the future real? Because he could foresee a demerit or two in his future. He’d have to ask Pavel.