The Bridge (13 page)

She raised her eyebrows. “So you poured it on your face?”

Bryce came out of the dojang, his tank soaked with sweat. “Hey, Melinda, what’re you—oh hey, Everett!”

Everett rolled his window down and flicked the goop off his hand. He scraped as much as he could off his face and flung it outside. It made a squelch as it hit the ground.

Bryce stood next to Melinda and eyeballed the ectoplasm. “Is that… gel on your face?”

Everett tucked his hair behind his ears and attempted to look dignified. “I thought it was water, but I was wrong.”

“Where’s the bottle?” Melinda asked. Everett didn’t think he would ever get along with her.

Everett hesitated before he fruitlessly searched the car’s front cabin. “It must have rolled elsewhere while I drove.”

Melinda gave Bryce’s reaction a once-over and then raised an eyebrow as if to ask Bryce something.

Bryce elbowed her arm. “Don’t be rude.”

“I should probably go.” Everett started the car and the jellyfish filed out of the open window.

“Why did you come here?” Melinda said.

“I was just taking a night drive. I pulled over for a drink. It didn’t go well.” Everett chuckled, and when Melinda’s glare remained, he shut his mouth.

“You could wash up here. We don’t have a shower, but you could take a sponge bath.” Bryce cast a hopeful look at Melinda, who was walking back to the dojang. “Melinda, will Antonio mind giving up a sponge to Everett?”

“Yes.” She opened the door and the jellyfish darted in. One of the jellyfish didn’t make it inside before the door closed. It floated around the building front, a mindless drone.

“Oh, well you can still use it,” Bryce said, leaning on the windowsill.

“It’s okay. I don’t want to be a bother. I’ll wash up at home.”

“You sure? It looks pretty gross in there.” Bryce’s gaze traveled around the car interior. He circled the car, looking through every window.

“Are you searching my car?” Everett laughed.

“Drugs are bad. Stay away.” Bryce smiled loosely, walking around the front of Everett’s car and running his finger along its hood as he passed. “Night drives waste gas. What are you really doing here?” Despite his friendly tone, Everett heard what he said as a threat.

“I felt like I had to.” Everett glanced at the jellyfish floating around the dojang, pausing every few seconds to hover in place before continuing on. “I wanted to see you.”

Bryce leaned on the open window frame. “Sounds fun. Text me later? We can schedule another time.”

Everett nodded too eagerly and a clump of sticky hair fell in front of his face.

“Have fun getting that washed out.” Bryce saluted Everett with two fingers to his forehead.

“And you have fun sweating it out.”

Bryce laughed, winked, and joined Melinda in the dojang.

Everett rolled the windows up and swore, running a hand through his hair and covering it with ectoplasm.

THE ECTOPLASM
washed off his skin and hair with shampoo; the embarrassment at having been caught in front of the dojang by Bryce and Melinda wouldn’t wash off for days.

Bryce would probably bring it up at their next lesson, which Everett was considering putting off until the end of the week.

Buzz and his clones didn’t return until an hour after the dojang closed. They came through Everett’s window, the clones a very faint shade of pink. Everett supposed the clones would last until they faded, or until Buzz smothered them out of existence.

They pulled Everett out of his computer seat, tentacles wrapped around his arms, and led him to the dining room. Buzz made Everett bring out the salt and pour a two-fist-sized pile on the table.

The clones sat on the perimeter of the table. A string of energy connected their caps, forming a single-wired fence of light. Buzz floated above them and eyed the pile. Eight strings of salt spilled from the pile and connected to a tentacle from each clone. The strings were a grain wide, and a streak of pink energy highlighted them. The salt pile glowed with a faint light that could have been Everett’s imagination and then rose to form a miniature human figure that vaguely resembled Bryce.

Buzz pointed at the salt bag, and Everett poured more in the circle. The miniature Bryce sucked the salt in and enlarged into a foot-tall figure.

Everett had never created anything so intricate. Without the support of the jellyfish, he surely would have passed out. The details of Bryce’s face were sharp, and there was no mistaking the sweats and tank he wore. It was the same outfit Bryce had worn that night.

Then Bryce moved. He scratched his head, laughed, and fooled with the hem of his tank. He shook his head, and Everett mistook it for a casual hair flip. Bryce’s face twisted, his hair lengthened, his nails grew and—

The jellyfish clones began to drift toward the ceiling one at a time, fading as they ascended.

Salt poured off Bryce’s figure as he fell to his knees, fingers clawing his face. Everett couldn’t tell if it was part of the original projection, or if the doll was simply collapsing on itself.

The last of the clones disappeared, and Bryce collapsed into a pile of salt.

Buzz screeched and kicked at the pile with a tentacle.

“Did that happen today? Did you see that?” Everett asked.

Buzz pointed at himself and twisted his cap.

“Not you?”

Buzz pointed at the places where the clones had stood.

“They did?”

Buzz stood on the table and held two tentacles out like human arms. They clutched at his cap, and he fell on his other tentacles, as if were recreating the Bryce projection. He rolled around the table, like a roll of pink painter’s tape. He leapt upright and opened his eye, narrowed with a tiny pupil. Like a drunkard, he stumbled across the table and fell off the edge.

“Bryce isn’t human and he’s in pain?” Everett asked.

Buzz nuzzled Everett’s cheek.

“Is this pain from a transformation?”

Buzz continued to nuzzle.

“If we go to the dojang now, we’ll be able to see the residue!” Everett went to scrape the salt into the bag.

Buzz shrieked and slapped Everett’s nose.

Everett rubbed his ears as the shriek echoed over his thoughts.

Buzz made a sloppy noose out of a little salt. He pointed at Everett and then the noose.

“Is Bryce still in there? What about Melinda?”

Buzz shrugged, then pointed more vehemently at the noose.

“I’ll get hanged?”

Buzz threw his tentacles in the air and gave up. He kicked the noose out of shape. Salt grains poofed in the air.

“It’s dangerous, I know, but we won’t learn anything if we play it safe. Does Bryce have control of himself when he’s transformed or is he a raving… whatever he is?”

Buzz slapped Everett’s nose and then made an X with his front tentacles and shoved it in Everett’s face.

“If you don’t help me, I’ll investigate by myself.”

Everett filled his bag with the salt and swept the fallen grains into a dustpan.

The front door opened and his grandfather came in. His face brightened as he took in the neat stack of boxes. “You packed all this already?”

“It wasn’t much trouble.” Everett went down the hall to put the salt in his room and almost tripped over his pajama pants when he saw Mr. Pendley closing the front door.

He hugged the salt to his chest. “Mr. Pendley! What brings you here?”

Mr. Pendley tugged down the lapels of his suit. “News from the Order.”

Everett’s grandfather smiled, but it failed to disguise his worry. Everett could see it as plainly as the wrinkles on his grandfather’s face.

“Bad news?”

“Omar was taken by force. The interior of his house is trashed and suggests an illegal use of bridging.” Mr. Pendley said this methodically, with an air of practice that suggested he had gone about as a messenger of this news.

“Is there any connection to me?” Everett asked.

Tense silence blanketed the house. Mr. Pendley looked at the wall clock. The minute hand ticked slower and louder.

Regardless of what Buzz warned, something had to be done.

“This case is Black. Have I taught you what that means?” his grandfather said.

“It’s a priority filing,” Everett said, his blood rushing somewhere in his body he couldn’t feel.

“Not in these days,” Mr. Pendley said, his eyes still on the clock. “Black now describes cases taken by the Order’s investigation team. The last time the team was assembled was in the seventies, when traitorous Bridge Masters used their powers to enslave the dead.”

“And this is connected to me?”

Mr. Pendley blinked for a long second, and when he opened his eyes they were on Everett. “What does your gut tell you?”

His gut said this was all his fault. His grandfather didn’t need any of this stress.

“The team hasn’t released other information. We can’t assume anything,” Everett’s grandfather hastily added.

“We can assume Everett is at the center of this. He must be protected.” Mr. Pendley’s voice and eyes were hard.

“Did I do something that led to this?” Everett asked.

“Not at all. None of this is your fault,” his grandfather said.

“If you weren’t a Bridge Master, Omar would still be here—assuming this is centered on you. We can’t change the fact you are a Bridge Master—a young one at that—and that further complicates matters. Your powers haven’t fully awakened, and your energy supply is nearly small enough to label you as disabled. Omar isn’t here to teach you witching. You can’t defend yourself.” Mr. Pendley massaged his eyes, drawing attention to the shadows underneath. “This is entirely stressful.”

Everett was a liability. Useless and inconvenient.

“If I’m useless, what’s the issue?”

“You are not useless. You’re a blank slate. Moldable.”

“It sounds like someone wants to get their hands on me.”

“That is what the Order suspects. You are the youngest Bridge Master as of now, which leaves you with more than enough time to be molded into something you’re not.” Mr. Pendley indicated the packing boxes with a glance. “When do you expect to move?”

“Everything essential is packed, so we can sleep at the shop tonight.”

Mr. Pendley smiled. It unsettled Everett. “The faster you move the better. Tomorrow might bring more news. I’ll notify you immediately, Mr. Hallman.” Mr. Pendley’s phone pinged. “That must be my kids. I haven’t cooked dinner yet and it is quite late.”

Everett’s grandfather clasped Mr. Pendley’s shoulder. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

When the two men were outside, Everett spun on the kitchenette. “Buzz. Where’d you go?”

Buzz popped out from behind the counter.

“Did you hear all that? It’s escalating, and I might be the catalyst.”

Buzz lay on Everett’s head and stroked his forehead.

“We have a lot to investigate.”

Buzz knocked Everett’s forehead as if to slap in common sense. Regardless of what Buzz said, Everett was investigating.

“HERE’S THE
plan. First, I’m going to check out Bryce.” Everett looked up from his notebook. “Quit it, Buzz. That’s gross.”

Buzz was gyrating on the lamp base, having resorted to inconvenient means to convince Everett to avoid an investigation. Apparently he thought grossing out Everett would help plead his case.

Everett jotted down notes. “We know he’s not human, and he painfully transforms into a paranormal creature. Witches are dangerous to him, and his father has witchtale volumes he isn’t allowed to read. He seems to trust me, even though I have the very books his father warned about. Second, I’m going to investigate Omar’s house.”

Buzz thrashed his tentacles against the lamp in a tantrum.

It
was
Buzz’s fault that Everett was making a plan. If Everett hadn’t known about Bryce’s nature, he wouldn’t be sitting at his desk with a notebook and pen.

“I have to fix what I started. I’m going to do it whether you like it or not. You can come with me or you can stay home. Your choice.” Everett turned his desk chair so his back was to Buzz. He said in a distressed voice, “You’re my familiar. I thought that meant you’d stand by me.”

Buzz whined and bumped his cap against Everett’s head.

“Will you come with me? I could use your clones to inspect the dojang and the house. It entails a lot of stealth, spells, and observational skills. It could be the difference between life and death—for me that is.”

Everett rubbed Buzz’s spongy cap. “You’ll go with me. You’re loyal. You could have lied about Bryce’s true form. You knew it would tempt me to do something senseless, and here I am planning on doing just that.”

EVERETT BOOKED
his next lesson for Wednesday when the second slot was empty; investigating would be difficult with two other people on the floor.

On Friday he’d visit Omar’s house and conduct his own investigation. He hadn’t decided if he was going to attempt a break-in or just stay outdoors. There had to be a minefield of evidence he could scope out, and because he was a Bridge Master, his exclusive skills would provide an advantage over the Order’s investigation team. His powers weren’t awakened, but if he played around, hopefully he would unlock a significant skill.

For now he had to focus on moving.

His grandfather was in the living room, going through the boxes before sealing them with tape. All that was left was furnishing their new home. Quick packing was the upside of living a life with few material goods. Feeling like a ghost was the downside.

Everett’s room was only personalized by the closet and bookshelf. Everything else was generic and could belong to anyone. He took a step back and absorbed the emptiness of the room. If a stranger walked in, they wouldn’t be able to guess Everett’s gender, age, or race. It looked like a dorm room before the students moved in.

“This is my legacy,” he said to Buzz, who played with the dust bunnies at the top of the bookshelf in the living room. “Nothing.”

“All rooms look like this after you take everything out,” his grandfather said.

Everett sank onto the sofa. Once upon a time, the cushions had been hard. Now they were so soft, you could feel the hard sofa frame through them. “I mean everything else. If something happens to me, I’ll be leaving nothing.”