The Bridge (14 page)

His grandfather stopped taping boxes. “Nothing will happen to you.”

“Everything has been leading to the fact that I’m involved in this Black case. Stop denying it. I started all this and now we’re living through the next witching crisis. What did you tell Mr. Pendley outside?” Everett had watched his grandfather walk Mr. Pendley to his car. They had spoken for about a minute.

Buzz gathered all the dust bunnies he could find and started to roll them into a ball.

“I asked him for advice on how to keep you safe.”

“What did he say?”

“To make you blend in with other teenagers.”

Buzz took the giant dust bunny ball and flew it to Everett.

“How? Change my appearance and behavior?” Everett touched the ball and sneezed. He rubbed his nose. “I could cut my hair. Dye it. Dress like a hipster.”

“Everett, what is this about?”

“I’m scared I’m going to do something stupid and screw this all up. I’m putting us in danger. I made Omar disappear, and whatever happens to him is my fault.”

“Whatever happens is not your fault. All of this is purely a consequence of being born the way you are. You had no choice over the matter.”

The pain in his grandfather’s eyes was too much. He dropped his chin to his chest and stared at his lap. “Why couldn’t I have been born normal?”

Why couldn’t someone else be the Bridge Master?

“Your life is taking a drastic change. You can’t control the change, but you can ride it. Don’t let it consume you. You are a fragile sunflower, but keep your face toward the sun and the shadows will fall behind you.”

But the shadows would follow everywhere he went.

NOW THAT
it was clean, the shop’s apartment had its own scent and atmosphere. The papery scent of the books downstairs was evident in the apartment, and Everett loved it. He had grown up with his nose in books, inhaling the rough smell of paper, ink, and cardboard.

The apartment was smaller than the house, and smaller equated to cozier. Everett slept easy Monday and Tuesday night. His bed frame didn’t come until Wednesday, when his grandfather’s hired help would bring in the rest of the furniture. Everett slept in a sleeping bag next to his boxes of clothes and books. The box of kitchenware was in the kitchenette, and the box of toiletries was in the bathroom.

On Wednesday morning Everett ran the shop while the movers walked the furniture upstairs. Some furnishings, such as the dining table and Everett’s bookshelf, had to be disassembled in order to fit the narrow staircase. His grandfather directed the operation and assisted the movers with reassembling.

His grandfather hadn’t offered to carry any of the furniture, and though it would have been outrageous to let him try, Everett wanted him to offer. He was getting old, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t joke about himself like he had in the past, poking fun at his oldness. The increasing severity of Everett’s situation was having an impact on everything, from their new home to their attitudes.

“It’ll be all right,” Everett whispered to the open air.

It would be a few hours until Everett turned the reins over to his grandfather, so he made himself comfy in front of the cash register with a cup of chamomile tea and a novel.

It was a slow morning with uncertain customers. Nobody asked Everett for recommendations. Two customers, probably close friends, asked for his grandfather instead. When he told them his grandfather wouldn’t be down for a few hours, they stayed in the shop, browsing shelves and lounging in the reading area.

“You must be the grandson,” a tall woman said.

Everett studied her over the top of his book. She was somewhere in the gap between young and old, but not middle aged. Her dark skin glowed with natural youth, and the wrinkles around her eyes were faint. She wore green jogging clothes that were almost neon. On the streets her clothes would make her glow like a neon hazard cone. In the shop, they made Everett’s eyes ache.

Two dark dogs walked toward the center of the shop, coming out of the blind spot created by the desk. The woman tugged the leash and the dogs dutifully stood next to her feet, one on either side of her body. One had long hair and the other had short, choppy hair as if a child had taken scissors to its fur.

She looked at the cover of his book and her painted lips parted in a gasp. “My son loves that book.”

“It only came out today,” Everett said.

“He got an advance copy. He’s a bit of a bookworm himself, and he loves paranormal books.” She rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

“Lucky duck. What’s his name?”

“Jake. And yours?”

“Everett.” He put his book aside and leaned over the counter to take a better look at the dogs. “I’ve always wanted a Yorkie.”

The dogs looked at him, and one started to bark. Its eyes flashed yellow for less than a second, but Everett saw it nevertheless.

The other dog sniffed at the corner of the checkout counter.

“Oh my goodness. Settle down, Satan.”

The barking dog dipped its voice into a low growl. The woman cursed in another language. She whistled sharply, and the dog’s ears folded down. It whined, bowing its head and pawing at its ears. A black stone on the back of the collar glinted under the shop light.

The other dog watched over its shoulder in sympathy.

“You named it Satan?” Everett asked, noting the dogs’ shared glances.

“No, but I might as well have. He misbehaves like a devil.” She scratched behind his ear and cooed.

Everett slipped a sweaty finger in his pant pocket and realized he had forgotten to put a salt packet inside.

“Did you adopt them or are they bred?” Everett tucked his hair behind his ears. His fingers were hot against his ears—or his ears were hot against his fingers; his senses were jumbled while the woman studied him like he was a creature behind a display glass.

“My son took them off the street. They were homeless, covered in filth, and half-starved to death. Jake took mercy on them and brought them home where he shaved their fur and showered them with the love they were denied.” The woman blew wet kisses to the dogs.

“Is there something I can help you with today?”

“No thank you. I was just walking by when I saw you in the shop. I’ve always wanted to meet you. Your grandfather is a lucky man to have you as his extra set of hands.” She smiled, her blood-red lips stretched thin across her white teeth. “Have a pleasant day.”

“You too.”

She left with a sidelong glance at the movers coming down the staircase. Her long ponytail swished behind her like a satiny rope.

EVERETT SEARCHED
for his grandfather in the back aisles. The two customers who had waited in the reading room were speaking with his grandfather about incoming books. When they had the info they wanted, they left, their eyes sunny with anticipation. Everett sidestepped them to avoid getting stepped on.

“Grandpa, can we talk?”

“Can you watch the register until I finish shelving?” his grandfather said.

“It’s important. The lady with the dogs, she’s a witch.”

His grandfather removed an incorrectly shelved book and smoothed out the dog-eared cover. “I know. Her son is a witch too.”

“The dogs too. They’re paranormal.”

“Hellhounds restricted by powerful spells.”

Everett’s knees sagged with the relief of his grandfather’s nonchalance. “Is this nothing to worry about?”

“She is part of the Order’s police force. They are very scarce and quite scattered. One to each small town, if I’m not mistaken. She knows we are witches.”

His grandfather looked as if he hadn’t had enough sleep for days. His movements were short and choppy as he tidied up the shelves. The veins on the backs of his hands were deep blue and heavily pronounced, making a sickly contrast with his white skin.

Everett swallowed to clear the ball in his throat. “But when I asked her about the dogs, she acted as if they were normal dogs.”

“The dogs are normal. They were fused with hellhounds in a ritual. I thought you’d know this. Didn’t you read all the witchtales I gave you?” His grandfather smiled.

“I do know the ritual, but I didn’t know it was customary for witches to act almost oblivious.”

“Safety precautions, and it can be fun to scare younger witches.” His grandfather chuckled, and a little color came to his cheeks. “You’d be surprised what I did when I was your age. You were scared, weren’t you?”

“No.” Everett rolled his eyes and went to assist a waiting customer at the register.

During a slow hour, Everett received a text from Bryce.

I can’t make the slot you asked for. I can make the other one. Five to six. Is that okay?

Five to six was a full slot. Bryce and Everett would have to share the floor with another private-lesson pair. Everett would make what he could of a less-than-ideal opportunity.

Everett responded,
That’s perfect.

THERE WERE
only two cars in front of the dojang. Ann sat in one, impassively scrolling through something on her phone. The other car was Bryce’s. Inside the dojang, Bryce rolled a punching bag to the center of the floor between the padded support pillars. The students from the previous class were packing their equipment bags and leaving through the back door.

“Is it just us?” Everett asked when the door shut behind the final student.

Buzz zoomed to Bryce and floated around his head. Everett tried not to trace Buzz’s path with his eyes.

“Something came up for Antonio’s student. That’s rare for Antonio’s slots. If you cancel a lesson with Antonio, give twenty-four hours’ notice or you’ll be on his shit list for a month. He rarely gets cancellations, so dropping out within twenty-four hours is a pretty big deal.” Bryce slapped the punching bag and grinned. His lips twitched. “But it’s a good hit to his big fat ego.”

Everett put his bag on the chair, his back to Bryce.

He had no plan other than to get as much info from Bryce and the dojang
as he could in the timespan of their lesson. One hour would provide different opportunities to investigate.

He slipped a paper packet of salt into the small pocket he had sewn inside his sweatpants.

Buzz checked the floor out, dipping underneath chairs and diving into the collection of equipment on the shelves at the back of the room.

“What are we going over today?”

“First we’ll do a quick review of the first lesson, and then I’ll detail your technique out. At the end of class, I have a gift for you to unwrap.” Bryce toed a black duffel bag next to one of the pillars.

Show me the traces.

Nothing showed, but not because there was no residue to expose. Everett couldn’t focus without his bare skin touching the salt.

The salt was a security blanket. He could cast without it, but the psychological security it provided gave him the juice he needed to put his spells into action.

“Did you remember everything or did it all just”—Bryce made a flying gesture away from his ear—“whizz away?”

“I haven’t practiced at all between then and now. I had lots of busywork to distract myself with.” Everett pinned his bangs back with pink clips.

Bryce stroked his chin. “I like the pink. It goes well with your hair color. Black and pink complement each other.”

“They were my mother’s. She loved pink.”

“Mine liked blue.”

Buzz landed on Bryce’s head.

“Crap!” Bryce stooped down and swatted Buzz out of the air. He stood with his back to the punching bag and rubbed his head as he scanned the air. “What was that?”

Buzz floated in his line of vision, but Bryce didn’t see him.

“Did a spider land on you?” Everett said.

“It felt bigger, like a baseball or something.” Bryce checked the mat around his feet. “That was weird. I guess I’m imagining things.”

Everett imagined setting Buzz on phantasmal fire.

“How’s my sparring stance?”

Everett stood on the other side of the floor so that Bryce would have to walk away from Buzz.

Bryce looked in Buzz’s general direction once more before crossing the floor.

“Looking good, except now I want you to switch your stance. Reverse everything. Change your lead leg and fist.”

Everett could do it on his own, but he wanted Bryce’s touch. “Can you guide me?”

“Put your fist here, foot here.” Bryce moved each limb with hands that had a texture unlike human flesh.

“What happened to your hands?”

Bryce froze with his hand on Everett’s wrist. “What do you mean?”

“They feel weird.”

Bryce released Everett as if his hand was on fire. “Crap. I forgot to wash it off. That must be the glue. I helped my sister with an art project. I’ll be right back.”

Buzz followed Bryce into the restroom.

Everett tore open the salt packet and poured a few grains onto his palm.

A weak residue line entered the dojang, curled around the mats, and then led into the bathroom. Another line, thinner but darker, drew smooth curves and loops around the room. The second line belonged to Buzz.

The first belonged to Bryce.

But why did it show now?

If Bryce’s hand was a partial transformation, the residue only appeared when Bryce was transformed. His human form covered the residue, or the residue didn’t exist when the paranormal side of him was locked away. The more complete the transformation, the stronger the residue. But if the residue had nothing to do with the transformation, perhaps it meant that Everett’s spells were strengthening. There might be something else going on Everett wasn’t aware of, such as a third party pulling strings, Buzz feeding energy into Everett’s spells, or Bryce’s self-defense slacking.

Show me the human residue of the past hour.

Flimsy strings ran across the floor in unrelated paths.

It showed nothing other than that there had been a lot of human movement in the previous class.

He attempted a deep aura scope that primarily searched for any nonhuman auras in the dojang. A slight tingle in his head labeled Buzz’s aura as paranormal. There was another aura, but his mind cramped so he withdrew.