The Rules and Regulations for Mediating Myths & Magic Read online

  His heart caught in his throat, and he shuddered. Who knows what could’ve touched him. Ugh. Creepy. Another weed swiped along his waist, and he violently brushed it off. He started to move away, to untangle himself from the slimy vines.

  Bridger looked up to find Leo with the big group. The commotion reached a crescendo, and Bridger realized it was no longer playful yells, but turmoil and fear.

  “There’s something in the water!”

  “Get to the beach!”

  And that was all Bridger needed to hear.

  He tried to swim to shore but couldn’t move, halted by a strong cool grip on his ankle.

  Panicked, Bridger struggled and kicked, but whatever had him held fast, and there were pinpricks of pain all along his leg up to his knee. Heart in his throat, Bridger looked back and, right beneath the surface, he saw clawed, webbed fingers with bluish-green skin wrapped tightly around his ankle. The hand was attached to a scaly arm, and, deeper in the water, Bridger could make out dark, wide eyes and a mouth filled with sharp teeth.

  Oh, fuck.

  “Wait, where’s Bridger?”

  Leo’s voice sounded far away, dim against the mounting horror that was Bridger’s current situation.

  He had to be hallucinating. Had to be. He was tangled in lake grass. That was all.

  And then the creature yanked.

  Bridger didn’t have a chance to scream, because suddenly he was under. Water closed over his head, and he was face to face with the thing that had him. Its mouth pulled into a semblance of a smile, and Bridger cowered away from the rows and rows of sharp teeth and the fluttering, red slits of gills in its neck. Bridger realized the lake weed wasn’t weed at all, but hair, and it twined around Bridger’s torso, crawled over his arms and shoulders. The creature flicked its tail, beautiful and scaled, and it reflected in purples and blues what little light pierced the gloom of the water.

  Fighting against the grip, his lungs burning, Bridger tried to pry the hand off his ankle, but the skin was slippery beneath his fingers and the grasp was too strong. He pulled at the weed, trying to free himself, snapping the stalks. The creature made a high-pitched noise and released Bridger’s leg. Bridger pushed upward and broke the surface, sputtering and gasping for breath. He took a deep lungful of air, tried to yell for help, but was dragged under again mid-scream.

  More hands were on him. More claws raked across his legs and his thighs and his back. More weed ensnared his arms.

  Bridger’s chest ached for air, and the more he struggled, the more he fought against the creatures, the weaker he became. His movements were sluggish in the dense, dark water. He thought of his mom. He thought about Astrid. He thought, hysterically, that he really was out of his depth. Then he hoped they’d find his body.

  He pressed his lips together for as long as possible, but finally he gasped and water flooded his mouth. His vision went black, but not before he caught a glimpse of human hands reaching down through the water.

  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. Thi
s 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.