by F. T. Lukens
In front of them, the trees and bushes bent and swayed unnaturally, parting in tandem as the sound of large footsteps approached. There was another roar, right in front of them, and the wind whipped Bridger in the face, stinging his cheeks. He clutched Pavel’s shoulders and ducked behind his back. Pavel tugged his hat down farther and shivered, and the tingles of Pavel’s magic engulfed them both in warmth and protection.
Pavel was anxious. Bridger could feel it in the tense line of Pavel’s spine, and it made the panic in Bridger’s chest tighten.
The ground shook, and suddenly the large bush ahead split down the middle and the sasquatch stepped through.
The sasquatch was huge—enormous—easily eight feet tall, hairy and terrifying. He lumbered as he walked, but his muscles rippled beneath his brown-black fur as though he could be frighteningly fast and supernaturally strong. His paws hung at his sides, and each one was adorned with long claws that seemed perfect for ripping and rending flesh. His eyes burned blue, and they reminded Bridger of ice floes on the lake. His maw widened when he saw the two of them, and he showed off his fangs, dripping with saliva.
The path behind him was destroyed, layered with frost, and the air around the creature dropped several degrees. The sasquatch brimmed with magic, brisk and chilling.
He regarded them both with narrowed eyes.
“Hello, there,” Pavel said with an amount of cheeriness Bridger couldn’t muster. “I am Intermediary Chudinov, and this is my assistant.”
The sasquatch’s demeanor changed. His body language relaxed and his stiffness eased, as if he had been braced for confrontation.
“Intermediary,” he greeted; the word was garbled and strange, a slow rumble of sound.
“Sir, I hope you’re having a wonderful day.” Bridger rolled his eyes as he peeked over Pavel’s shoulder. “I’m here to let you know that you’ve wandered south a bit too early. Is there anything I can help you with?”
He turned his giant head, his fur shifting, and bent forward slightly. “Early?”
“Yes, sir, a little bit early.”
The sasquatch harrumphed. It raised a paw as if to say of course.
Bridger’s eyes widened, and he stifled a laugh.
“And if you stay around, it will affect the weather here negatively. If you wouldn’t mind heading back north, we’d be grateful.”
“Negative?” The guttural sound echoed through the trees.
“It’s too cold,” Bridger said. “We’re freezing.”
The sasquatch turned his narrowed ice-blue eyes on Bridger. “Cold.” He made a wheezing noise that Bridger categorized as laughter.
“Wrong,” Pavel corrected. “The weather you bring with you is wrong for us. Please, if you would, sir, head north.”
The sasquatch sighed, which caused a frigid breeze. He turned on his heel and ambled back the way he’d come.
“Goodbye, Intermediary,” he said, over his shoulder. Then he roared again for good measure, and the world shook.
Bridger and Pavel stood there for a long moment, Bridger held onto Pavel like a leech, and Pavel stared where the sasquatch had disappeared into the trees. When the sound of the sasquatch’s retreat faded, and the air around them warmed fractionally, Pavel took a deep breath.
“That actually worked,” he said, awed.
The stress which had slowly built within Bridger’s body unknotted and made his limbs spaghetti. “I knew it! I knew it! You had no clue.”
“I had no clue.” Pavel affirmed.
“You’re a jerk, you know? You lied to me.”
“I bluffed. There’s a difference.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Bridger let go and locked his knees to keep from sliding all the way to the ground. “I’m glad your bluff worked, and you didn’t endanger my life.”
Pavel grinned. “You were perfectly safe the whole time.”
“Can you tell my heart, because I swear it’s going to give out.”
They trudged back to the portal. “You have a flair for the dramatic.”
“And you have a hidden sense of humor.”
Pavel’s mouth lifted in a half-grin. Bridger laughed and shoved Pavel, then took off running.
“Oh, you scoundrel!” Pavel shouted.
Bridger sprinted. His body was hot under the heavy coat and the scarf, and the weather was already warming with the departure of the sasquatch. Bridger skidded to a halt in front of the portal and waited for a puffing Pavel to join him.
The portal hummed where they left it, and Bridger waved at the distorted transparent swirl between the trees.
“Hi,” Bridger greeted. “I hope you weren’t too lonely without us.”
The surface rippled. Pavel narrowed his eyes at Bridger. “Sycophant,” Pavel muttered. He took Bridger’s wrist, and together they stepped through.
At home, Bridger flung open the side door and bounded inside. He was brimming. He felt alive and indestructible and happy. He was unburdened, lighter than he had felt in years, and he had met a sasquatch. What a great day!
“Whoa, hey, sweetheart, where have you been?” his mother asked when Bridger skipped into the house. She sat at the kitchen table and drank coffee from a chipped cup with Boba Fett pictured on the side. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and she had a donut in the other hand.
“I was at work.”
She raised an eyebrow as she chewed. “You’ve been at work every night this week and you’ve been gone for hours. Don’t you think you might be working a little too much?”
“Nah,” Bridger said, waving away her concern. “It’s the busy season.” Understatement. “And he needs me for a few extra hours.” Lie. “And it’s not so bad.” Oh, my God, I met an actual sasquatch today and walked through a magic portal and had lunch with pixies.
“And are you keeping your grades up?”
Bridger nodded. “Oh yeah, everything is as normal.” Untruth. His grades had taken a little bit of a hit. Without Astrid to study with and with studying a book of myths and not Hamlet or physics or biology or government… okay, so his grades weren’t going to be stellar this semester. Solid Bs and Cs, but sasquatch.
“I haven’t seen Astrid lately. Is she okay?”
And that would be the question to throw him. His mother didn’t not like Astrid, but Astrid wasn’t her favorite. She tolerated her because she made Bridger happy. Not that his mother was a prude, but she didn’t approve of Astrid’s choice of hair, jewelry, clothes, language, goals, car, et cetera.
“Well, she’s really busy, and I’m really busy. But we see each other at school.”
His mom hummed. “That doesn’t sound like normal. Usually I have to pry her out of the house or track you down on the weekends. Are you sure everything is okay?”
Wow, way to bring down his mood. “Yep. Well, okay, she might be a little mad with me over some school stuff but we’ll work it out.”
“School stuff? Does this have to do with the beach day?”
“Kind of? Not really. It’s honestly not a big deal.” Oh, that was a whopper. Today was the first day since their falling out that Bridger hadn’t felt strange and broken. “When I see her on Monday, I’ll let her know you were asking about her.”
His mom took a big bite of her doughnut. “Don’t go out of your way on that.”
“Ha!” Bridger pulled out a chair and sat opposite. “Are you working tonight?”
“I’m not on the schedule, but I put myself down to be called in if needed.”
And that was his mom. She worked hard and took extra shifts and overtime so he could live in a house and go to school and not have to worry. And here he was, lying to her. Child of the year. Maybe he could tell her the truth. Pavel called him brave. He could be brave.
“Hey, mom?”
She took a sip of her coffee. “Yeah, kiddo?”
; Bridger opened his mouth and snapped it shut. “Any more doughnuts?” Coward.
“On the counter.” She watched him as he crossed the kitchen. “Are you sure everything is okay?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He picked out the doughnut with the most chocolate frosting. “Everything’s fine.”
“Okay. Well, hey, since you’re not doing anything tonight, want to go check out that new burrito place by the sketchy movie theater?”
“Sure, sounds great.”
“Great. Maybe go get some homework done, so you’re not cramming it all in tomorrow?”
Bridger rolled his eyes dramatically before shoving the rest of this doughnut into his mouth and mumbling a petulant, “Yes, Mom.”
“Charming.”
He smiled with a mouth full of doughnut as he walked past her chair. He almost choked laughing when she swatted him.
Okay, so today was not the day. But someday soon he would tell her.
He scurried up the stairs to his room, intent on reading Pavel’s book, or napping, whichever happened first.
Chapter 9
Homecoming fever gripped the high school. Bridger hadn’t noticed it, being too wrapped up in his own head and problems, but walking through the main doors on Monday, he couldn’t miss the banner—literally. Whoever had hung it hadn’t secured it tightly enough, and it drooped halfway into the hall. Bridger ducked on the way to his locker, and the edge of the paper proclaiming Midden High is the best!!! scraped over his hair.
The game was on Friday. The dance on Saturday.
Bridger had gone to the game the year before with Astrid and the field hockey girls. He and Astrid had skipped the dance. They’d held a protest movie marathon at Astrid’s house since neither of them had dates, and they didn’t want to go together.
He probably wouldn’t go to the dance this year either—less a date-less protest but more a self-care mechanism.
He would go to the game to cheer for Leo, though.
Bridger’d heard the rumors about how good Leo was at football, but being wise to rumors, he had written them off as exaggeration. Except, Bridger found out from Zeke, of all people, that Leo was college-scout good, as in, they were going to be at the game. And how cool was that? His potential boyfriend was the real deal. He could get an athletic scholarship to a team in the Big Ten.
Well, scholarship or not, Bridger knew who he was going to vote for as Homecoming King.
Bridger approached his locker, and as had become usual, Astrid was not waiting for him.
However, Leo was.
Bridger smiled, ridiculous and giddy, and he pushed his blond hair out of his eyes and he was glad he had worn his good pair of jeans. He discreetly adjusted his flannel shirt and hoped he didn’t have any mini muffins in his teeth.
“Hey,” Bridger said, leaning against the locker. Luckily, he did not fall or bang his head, which was a definite improvement.
Leo smiled. “Hey, yourself.”
“What’s up?”
“I was wondering if you wanted to watch practice after school, and then I could give you a lift home. I drove my mom’s car today.”
Bridger’s middle fluttered, a thousand butterflies suddenly took flight in his stomach, and he crossed his arms.
“Could you drive me to work instead?”
“Yeah, I could.”
“That sounds awesome.”
Leo grinned. The bell rang, and Bridger startled. He opened his locker, grabbed his books, and shoved them into his bag.
They walked to English together.
“What did you think of the Friar’s Tale?”
“I think I didn’t read it yet,” Bridger replied. “I’m just glad we have moved on from Hamlet. What was it about?”
“A demon.”
Bridger paused, thoughtful. “Huh, maybe I should read that.”
Leo cocked an eyebrow. “If you want a good grade, yeah.”
“Right,” Bridger said. “Exactly.”
The school day was uneventful, except for the great fall weather, and Bridger took pride when his fellow students mentioned the beautiful sunshine. He couldn’t tell them why but, hey, he didn’t have a problem taking a little internal credit.
Bridger strode out the back doors and crossed the athletic fields to find a good spot to watch Leo and the football team.
The practice football field butted up against the field hockey field. Sitting on the bleachers, Bridger could look across the expanse of flat manicured grass to the field hockey team. He picked Astrid out easily. She had changed her hair from bright red to black with blue tips. Bridger rested his feet on the seat in front of him and watched as she practiced: protecting the goal, running up the field, sending the ball sailing up the midfield with one powerful strike. She laughed, and high-fived her teammates, and looked genuinely happy.
A pang of regret and sorrow hit Bridger so hard he thought he might fall off the bleachers. He pulled out his phone and pulled up her contact information.
He sent her a text.
I’m sorry. And I miss you.
She wouldn’t get it until after her practice. And she might not respond, but Bridger did miss her. He couldn’t be brave with his mom, but maybe he could be brave with her.
Bridger looked away and focused on the football team and Leo.
It wasn’t a full practice, so they weren’t wearing pads. They ran a few sprints and then reviewed plays. Leo was ridiculous in how hot he was and how easily he moved. He ran faster than anyone else. He caught the ball better and jumped higher and outperformed everyone on the field. He was humble when he received praise from the coaches and his teammates; he ducked his head and blushed, waved off the compliments and gave his own to the others.
He was a hero. King Arthur brought forth from Avalon. Or Heracles descended from the heavens.
And he wanted to date Bridger.
Bridger couldn’t help but smile as he thought about it; his whole body was alight and warm. He was going to ask him to Homecoming. It was only a week away, and Leo may already have a date, but Bridger was going to ask him. He was going to do it. Today. After practice. Yes.
Bridger stretched, basking in the sun, and lazily watched the activities on the field. The football players ran plays. The field hockey girls practiced. The cheerleaders did backflips. The track team jumped hurdles. A large black dog stalked the tree line.
Bridger sat up so fast he almost fell off the bleachers. He banged his elbow on the metal, but it barely registered.
Oh, please, no. Please don’t be real.
But there, in the shadows of the adjoining woods, prowled a large black wild animal. It was huge, the size of the cougars Bridger had seen at the zoo, but instead of slick fur, it was shaggy; its coat was more like a bear’s than a dog’s. Twin horns sprouted from its head, curling around the side of its face. And it was pure black, so dark that it seemed to absorb every ounce of light—except for its eyes, which were red and slitted and glowing. It noticed Bridger watching, and it pulled back its lip in a snarl, fangs dripping and sharp. Its tail twitched, but it kept to the trees, as if there was a line it could not cross.
Keeping his gaze locked on the animal lest it decided to charge, Bridger hopped up, grabbed his bag, and walked briskly toward the equipment shack. He smiled tightly at the students he passed and felt blindly in the bottom of his bag as he strode to the small building.
He made it there just as the mirror began to ring. Perfect timing. Flipping it open, he saw Pavel with Nia hovering over his shoulder.
“Bridger, there is—”
“A really scary and large black cougar-dog-thing near the football field? Yeah, got it, boss.”
“Ah, yes, well.” Pavel cleared its throat. “What is it doing?”
“Other than being terrifying? It’s growling and stalking.” Bridger peeked around the cor
ner of the shed. Yep, still there. “It’s acting like it’s stuck. Like it can’t cross over the school property line.”
“Do you have your book?”
Bridger rooted in his bag until he grasped the leather binding. He pulled it out.
“Got it. Now what?”
“Look up the Ozark Howler.”
Bridger flipped through the pages, which was difficult while trying to hold the mirror and not be noticed by the dozens of students on the fields. He shot an overly friendly smile at a nearby cheerleader and winked. It freaked her out, and she frowned and walked away to the group of girls.
“Um… Ozark Howler. A nocturnal apparition found primarily in the Ozarks. Well, he’s obviously lost.”
“Keep reading.”
Bridger hummed and skimmed. “Associated with the black dog from folklore of the British Isles, its howl is a cross between a wolf’s howl and the bugle of an elk. A portent of death... What the hell, Pavel?”
“It’s an omen. And it’s nocturnal. A howler can’t stand the light. That’s why it’s not coming closer.”
Bridger looked back over, and, sure enough, the huge dog skirted the shadowed line, not daring to cross into the sunlight, but moving along the tree line, stalking closer to the football field.
“So we’re safe for now?”
Pavel’s lips pressed into a thin line. “For now. But you must—”
Pavel kept talking, but Bridger was unable to hear over the chilling screech-howl of the howler. It sounded like a wolf, but higher-pitched, and loud and long and menacing. A chill swept down Bridger’s spine, and he dropped both the book and the compact to clap his hands over his ears. He crouched and watched as the dog, lips pulled back over sharp teeth, prowled along the shadow line. It let out another intense growl, a rumble of menace, and Bridger flinched.
The students and coaches on the fields mirrored Bridger’s pose while the adults looked around frantically for the source. The animal howled again, rent the frantic chatter on the field with a horror-movie shriek combined with a yodel. A girl pointed and screamed, her panicked cry pierced the air, and everyone began yelling, gesturing, and running toward the parking lot and school. The crowd descended into chaos. Coaches waved and herded the students toward the school doors, while they grabbed bags and equipment and dragged it behind them.