The Rules and Regulations for Mediating Myths & Magic

by F. T. Lukens

  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 s
aid 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.

  Chapter 15

  They lost.

  They lost.

  Leo lost.

  Shocked, Bridger looked at the mirror in his hand. A weary Pavel and a relieved Astrid stared back at him.

  “What happened?” Pavel asked.

  Bridger opened his mouth and shut it. He squinted, checked the scoreboard again, and shrugged. “I have no idea. What happened to you?”

  “They left,” Astrid said. She breathed hard. Her hair was a mess, and she had her stick resting on her shoulder. “We heard the sound from the stadium and then they all… decided to leave.”

  “What did you do?” Pavel asked.

  “We lost the game,” Bridger said softly. “Leo lost the game.”

  Metaphorical death.

  Bridger’s legs gave out. He hit the ground hard and decided to stay there, sprawled in a patch of shadow next to the exterior wall of the stadium.

  The panicked cries of his name were tinny and far away. The mirror lay lit in the grass.

  Relief swept over him. He covered his face with his hands. Metaphorical death. Leo lost. He failed. His call was to help the sports teams. His medallion protected him during the games. His mentor was his coach. Bridger was his temptation, and when Bridger kissed him… something happened. It was like when Bridger stepped through the warded door. Magic. His kiss was magic.

  He laughed. He couldn’t help it. It swelled up in his middle, and he laughed, clutched his sides, and rolled on the ground. He laughed so hard, tears pricked at his eyes.

  That’s how Pavel and Astrid found him.

  “I think he’s broken,” Astrid said, crouching. She touched his shoulder, and Bridger tilted his head to look at them. “Elena is going to kill you over her jacket. You do realize you’re wallowing in mud?”

  Bridger smiled. He sat up and grabbed Astrid in a tight hug. She grasped him tight and patted his back. He let her go and jumped to his feet. He went for Pavel, too, but stopped short since Pavel was still covered in goo.

  Pavel smiled. “How about a handshake?”

  Bridger gladly took his hand. “Good idea.”

  “Good work, Bridger. And Astrid,” he added. “How did you do it?”

  “I kissed him.”

  Pavel’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

  “Yeah. I kissed him, and it was magic.”

  Astrid inspected him, gaze traveling over his body. “Did you hit your head when you kissed him?”

  Bridger laughed. “No. I don’t know what happened. But it worked. It worked.”

  “It did indeed,” Pavel said with a smile.

  “Are you okay?” Bridger asked. He looked at the two of them. “Both of you?”

  Astrid shrugged. “I gave that hag a few hard whacks, then helped Pavel with the manticore. Elena chased everything else. There were a few myths you hadn’t met before.”

  “We’re fine,” Pavel said with a soft smile. “Elena is as well, though not pleased her favorite jeans ripped.”

  “But otherwise, we’re good?”

  “We’re good,” Pavel echoed. “I’m going to meet with Elena and the pixies. We’ll make sure the area is clear. Bran and Nia will want to see you later tonight. If you can.”

  “Yeah.” Bridger took off Elena’s ruined jacket and handed it to Pavel. “I want to wait for Leo, but after, Astrid and I will come over.”

  Pavel nodded. “I’ll see you both in a while.” He picked the mirror up from the grass and, with Elena’s jacket draped over his arm, wandered away. Bridger noted the ease in Pavel’s walk, the way his face tilted up to the starry sky, the way with each step he seemed younger and happier.

  “
Hey,” Astrid said, nudging her shoulder into his. “Your job is amazing.”

  Bridger laughed again. “Like an hour ago you were yelling at me about how much it sucked.”

  She shrugged. “Heat of the moment.”

  “You’re my best friend, Buck.” Bridger said, slinging his arm over her shoulders. “Don’t forget it.”

  “I don’t plan to, Cap.” She sighed. “Even when you’re half a country away.”

  Bridger’s smile slipped. “Yeah.”

  “Hey, don’t get all sullen on me now. You kissed your man. And,” she said with a nudge, “there he is.”

  The team exited the stadium, carrying their gear, all of them tired and frowning. Leo’s head was down, and, without the pads, he looked small.

  “Go take him in a dark corner and make him smile again,” Astrid said with a wink.

  “We really have to wean you off the fanfiction.” He gave her a quick squeeze and a smile, before leaving her side and heading toward Leo.

  Leo looked up at his approach. “Oh, hey, Bridge.”

  “Hey.”

  “My parents are right there so…” He trailed off. His face was pinched; he looked… lost. His usual bright shine was shadowed. His confident air was gone.

  Bridger took his hand and gently tugged. “Come with me. Just for a few minutes.”

  Leo nodded. He let Bridger lead him away from the group and to another closed off entrance to the stadium. They stepped under the arch and held hands in the shadows.

  “You okay?” Bridger asked.

  “Yeah. I guess. I just… we weren’t supposed to lose.”

  “I’m sorry, Leo.” Leo shrugged. He played with Bridger’s fingers. “I guess my kiss for luck backfired.”

  That drew a small smile. “I can’t believe you did that. Everyone saw.”

  Bridger shrugged. “So what? You’re the one who told me to be myself.”

  “Yeah, I did.” Leo squeezed Bridger’s fingers. “If we hadn’t lost the game, I would’ve counted this an awesome night.”

  “We can strive for an awesome night tomorrow.”