The Bridge (11 page)

“What the fuck was that?” Bryce also had slapped his hands over his ears. He shook his head and blinked hard, as though he could blink away the ringing that surely plagued his mind in the same way it plagued Everett’s.

He touched Everett’s back and scanned the road outside.

That hadn’t been a scream of excitement.

“Maybe an accident?” Everett said, his mind scrambling uselessly to find an explanation for Bryce hearing Buzz.

“Could be. You should sit down. It looks like you’re going to sway.” Bryce toed off his shoes and held Everett to his side until Everett was seated on the couch. “There’s always something happening to you. Or is it just me?”

Everett curled on the couch. “Just you.”

Bryce smiled and cast a suspicious look outside before he shut the door.

“THE COFFEE
will make it worse. Stick to herbal teas and you’ll be energized without the crash—or headaches.” Bryce swapped the coffee cup for a mug filled to the brim with chamomile and mint tea. “Your gramps knows what’s up. This is the best tea out there.”

Everett poked his tongue in the tea to test the warmth. It wasn’t too hot or too cool, and it rushed down Everett’s throat, satisfying warmth trailing behind it.

Bryce moved a few small boxes into the living room. “Where should I start?”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I want to. Should I start with your books? I’m sure you have a huge bookshelf stuffed with books.” Bryce stood over the boxes and cracked his knuckles.

“I wouldn’t call it huge.” Everett never spent money on physical copies. His entire library was a collection of gifts, giveaways, and childhood books.

“I’ll get started there.”

Bryce began to leave, and Everett remembered the witchtale volumes and his borderline-obsessive collection of paranormal books.

“It’s okay. You really don’t have to. Have a cup of tea and crackers or something,” Everett insisted, about to stand—and do what? Physically hold Bryce back?

“I’m not going to steal anything. You can trust me.”

“I just feel bad you’re doing all this and I’m sitting here. I’m fine. I’ll go with you.”

Bryce brought a box into the bedroom and drummed a slow beat against the walls. If he focused, Everett could hear a familiar rhythm.

Everett put his tea mug on his computer desk and discreetly checked the status of his bookshelf. He hadn’t thought much of Bryce going through his books until now. With Buzz’s scream in mind, he wasn’t sure he wanted Bryce to see anything witch related.

“We can begin with clothes. My grandfather and I want to start sleeping in the apartment as soon as possible, so let’s get the necessities down.” Everett emptied the closet, tossing his clothes at Bryce’s feet.

“You’re moving to an apartment? Why are you downgrading? Is your financial situation worsening?” Bryce removed the clothing from the hangers and folded the clothes into neat rectangles.

“Not at all, but moving will help with our budget. My grandfather owns a shop in Sundale. It’s a mixed-use building, so there’s an apartment on the second level. We already have a buyer for our house and won’t have to waste money on fixing it up. I’m going to Greenford next year, and it’s closer to Sundale, so I won’t be commuting as far. It’s almost a win-win situation.” All that was left in the closet were mementos from his parents. “I also need a push in the grieving process. I’m still in denial of my parents’ deaths. Seven years of denial.”

Everett stared at a small vintage chest in the corner of a closet shelf. He had no memory of it, but its five butterfly latches spoke of untold importance. He’d have to wait for Bryce to leave until he opened it. He closed the closet.

“I know how you feel. My mom died when I was ten in an accident. It was… brutal.”

“My parents died when I was ten too.” Everett considered the obliviousness of his tone and bit his tongue. “I mean to say I’m in the same boat.”

Bryce played with a hole in a ratty knit sweater.

“They never found their bodies, so I’ve always thought they were out there somewhere.” Everett helped Bryce fold the rest of the clothes. “You don’t have to fold my undergarments. Point at them and I’ll take them out.”

“It’s just underwear.” Bryce tossed a pair of boxers on Everett’s lap.

Their short talk about their parents had darkened the atmosphere. Everett worked inefficiently through his undergarments. Bryce’s expression had the ghostly, contagious remains of grievous pain.

Everett remembered waiting for days, weeks, and months for his parents to return, never losing hope, even when his grandfather told him it was almost impossible they were alive. There were countless stories about families miraculously reuniting, and he had believed he could be part of their elite group. He could defy the odds; he was a witch after all.

And then he had dipped into witch superiority.

His parents were witches, therefore they could survive anything humans couldn’t. They were more apt to survive any situation. They had spells on the tips of their tongues. They were skilled adventurers who could handle anything.

He still believed his parents were alive, but he knew they were dead. It was a strange paradox that nevertheless felt logical in his mind.

He and Bryce filled the first box with all of Everett’s clothes. Everett put his grandfather’s clothes in the second box, and Bryce put towels and toiletries in the third box.

“You’re going to Greenford?” Bryce asked, as if there was something hard to believe about it.

“I turn eighteen soon. I’m a summer baby.”

Bryce pushed his box into the hall. “I just graduated from Greenford. It would have been cool to go with you.”

“What’s your degree in?”

“Business. Just like my dad and mom.” He scratched his head and smiled. “Like both my sisters.”

Was he going off to a four-year college in the fall? The closest one was a thirty-minute drive from Sundale. The majority of its attendees were locals or lived within several hours of the county, but Bryce deserved to head out, travel far, and explore different cities and towns.

“Could you take me on a campus tour?” Everett said.

“I could introduce you to some friends too.”

Doubtlessly they wouldn’t be like the library hermits Everett had befriended in high school, but he believed Bryce wouldn’t introduce him to the sort of people he didn’t get along with.

Bryce pushed Everett’s box into the hall to join the other two.

“Want to do books next?”

Everett pretended to double-check the boxes. “Sure. I’ll hand over the books and you pack them.”

He could give Bryce the books in piles. If Bryce stored them in stacks, he wouldn’t see the witchtale volumes. They looked like antiques and didn’t have titles, but the engraved designs on the covers were giveaways to any witch. Not that Bryce was a witch, but if Buzz’s painful scream and subsequent abandonment of the house were anything to go by, Bryce had to stay away from the volumes. But if Buzz had left Everett behind, maybe there wasn’t much to fear.

Everett gave Bryce the books in order of the largest cover sizes to the smallest. The witchtales belonged somewhere in the middle, and they’d be sandwiched between multiple books.

“You really like paranormal books,” Bryce noted.

“Reality is boring. Fantasy isn’t.” Everett stacked three ghost-hunting books together.

“You escape with books about—” Bryce looked at the back of one of the books. “—real life ghost hunts?”

“It’s interesting.” Everett placed the book stacks in a row.

Bryce rushed to pack them all. “You’re going so fast.”

Everett put the witchtales in different stacks, sandwiched between two books of similarly colored covers. Bryce split the books up to slot them in the narrow gaps between the stacked books and the walls of the box, putting one of the witchtales away after a short glance. Everett released a huge breath he’d been holding in.

“Hey, we need another box,” Bryce said and put the other volume off to the side. He looked at Everett. “Can you get it for me? My leg is kind of cramped.”

When Everett returned with the next box, Bryce was flipping through the unboxed witchtales volume.

“Did you find something you like?” Everett asked.

“What is this?” Bryce flipped through a few pages.

Everett recognized the story as the one about a witch who cast a spell on a man to make him fall in love with her. She was punished with imprisonment for three decades—one decade for every year she held him under her spell.

“It’s an old fairytale book. It’s fragile. Please be gentle with it. Some pages are starting to tear.”

“It’s like a Bible for witches.”

Everett couldn’t control his rapid heartbeat. “Isn’t it interesting?”

Bryce flipped to the last page where the moral code was summarized in a numbered list. “Do you believe in this?”

“Do I believe in witches?”

Bryce gestured to the book. “In everything.”

“Do I believe in the book’s events?”

Bryce looked at Everett. “Are you Pagan?”

“That book’s not Pagan. It’s something else.”

“Do you do rituals and stuff?” Bryce closed the book. “I’m not going to judge you. I just want to know what your relationship is to this book.”

“You’re acting like this is a life-or-death situation.”

“Because it is. Are you a witch?”

All the warmth left Everett’s body. He could say he wasn’t
that
type of witch, but what difference did it make?

Bryce didn’t wait for an answer before he went on. “My dad has this book. He has a bunch of other ones actually, but I’m not allowed to read them. Anyone who follows this book—shit.” Bryce rubbed the stress crease between his eyebrows. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Not again.”

“Bryce?”

“I need water.” Bryce went to the kitchen with heavy feet. A cabinet opened and closed, and the faucet ran on a full torrent.

Everett flipped through the book and stared blindly at the faded ink.

EVERETT WENT
to the kitchen where Bryce stood at the sink. He had forgotten to put the witchtales down, so he held it to his chest and hoped Bryce wouldn’t ask to see it.

“Don’t want to waste your bottled water,” Bryce said as he filled a glass with tap water.

He swished a mouthful down his throat. His skin was slick with sweat and his bangs were damp, as if he had splashed water on his face. His knuckles were scabbed again.

“You look unwell,” Everett said.

“It’s just the little panic I had about the book.” Bryce held a hand out for the witchtales. “Since I’m here, can I read it? This is the best opportunity I have.”

“What did your father say about the book?”

“Anyone who follows it is a danger to me.” Bryce rolled his dark eyes, irritation shining in their black pools of frustration.

Everett twirled a strand of hair around his finger in a tight spiral so his hand would stop trembling. “How are they dangerous?”

“I don’t know. My dad’s crazy sometimes.” Bryce leaned against the sink counter and reached for the witchtales. Everett handed it over, praying to the gods for his hands to stop sweating and for Bryce to be nothing more than the oblivious son of a paranoid human.

Bryce flipped to the first story. “‘The Black Cat.’ Sounds like a Halloween story.”

Calling a witchtale a Halloween story was a common insult, but Everett didn’t think much of it when it came from Bryce’s mouth. Bryce could insult witches, call them fake and whatever else he wanted, so long as he remained ignorant.

Witchtales had the same qualities as horror stories. They had witches, demons, ghosts, and every paranormal creature one could think of, plus more. Just as there were unknown creatures at the bottom of the ocean, there were unknown creatures of paranormal descent.

They went back to Everett’s bedroom, Bryce flipping through the volume as he followed behind Everett. Thank goodness the hall was short. Everett sat on his knees and packed the rest of the books, his arms covered in gooseflesh. Bryce held an intimate part of his life and flipped through it as if it was a common book.

Where did they stand on the witch topic? Everett hadn’t made it clear he was a witch, but his lack of a proper response indirectly confirmed he believed in the witchtales.

Witchtales weren’t the witch version of Bible stories, but many families used them for the purpose of instilling morals and teaching the Law—as the Bible did for Christians. There were arguments over whether the witchtales were to be taken literally or figuratively, but they were on no level comparable to the arguments over the Bible.

Finally Bryce gave Everett the volume to pack away. Everett closed the box on the remaining books and grouped it with the others. They could transfer the food in the refrigerator and pantry cabinets to the apartment, but Bryce would discover his new address. Bryce already knew Everett was moving to a multiuse building in Sundale. If Bryce’s father was an enemy of witches, the disclosure of the shop’s exact location would defeat the purpose of moving homes.

The goose bumps spread to his legs. A chill ran over his flesh like a blanket of rippling air. Everett hadn’t been careful.

“What are we packing next?” Bryce appeared behind Everett.

“Dinnerware would be good. We can use bubble wrap and packing peanuts.”

Everett brought out his mother’s small dining set to be packed first. The family had only used it for special dinners, such as birthdays and holidays. Everett didn’t remember the last time they served food on this dining set. He imagined it had been on the New Year’s Day after his tenth birthday.

He covered the dining set with the tablecloth from last week and emptied the cabinets of the casual dinnerware.

“These look ancient. The designs are faded and you can see scratches.” Bryce rubbed a finger on a prominent scratch.

“These plates are older than I am. We’ve had them for a long time,” Everett said.

“You can’t afford to buy new ones?”

“My family values functionality over appearance. If it can work as a plate, we’ll keep it.”