The Bridge (20 page)

“If you think about it, this is a very strange situation,” Everett said.

He recalled a letter he had written to his future self in the fifth grade. It was addressed to eighteen-year-old Everett who would soon graduate from high school. His teacher had promised to send it out during the summer of his senior year, but he hadn’t received it yet. While other students had forgotten as soon as they entered middle school, he remembered.

The only sentence he recalled in full was:
I hope you have friends (and maybe a boyfriend too) by now.

He had thought he was sassy when he wrote that line. As he went through middle school and high school, his perspective on his letter became negative. It came to represent his failed dreams as a child.

This was a very strange situation indeed.

When Everett wrote his response to his fifth-grade self, he would have the honor of confirming a friend and a boyfriend.

“Want to take a nap?”

Everett’s heart was beating so fast it would keep him awake. “Sure.”

Bryce’s breaths faded into a soft rhythm of intakes and exhales. It lulled Everett to sleep, and Bryce’s heat kept Everett in a sweet dreamland where paranormal creatures were a mere hassle.

EVERETT WAS
roused out of sleep by a soft knock on the doorframe.

Bryce groaned and buried his face between Everett’s neck and the pillow. His leg was over Everett’s and his hand was under Everett’s shirt, his curled fingers warm against Everett’s chest.

Mr. Pendley stood in the doorway, his thin lips pressed together. He must have been standing there for a minute, given how comfortably he leaned against the doorframe.

Everett pulled Bryce’s deadweight hand out of his shirt. He blushed under Mr. Pendley’s tracking eyes.

“Bryce, your father is here.”

Bryce sat up, the left side of his hair flattened to his face. Everett wished Mr. Pendley wasn’t there so he could comb his fingers through the mess.

“You’re early,” Bryce said, voice sharp and clear of sleep.

Everett drew himself up and sat against the headboard. He tried to discreetly tame his hair, but Mr. Pendley’s eyes were tracking beams on him.

Bryce patted Everett’s shoulder. “We didn’t do anything. We just slept together. Literally—in the nonliteral way of ‘sleeping together’ that doesn’t mean sexual intercourse. We literally slept.”

“He means we took a nap together,” Everett said.

“An intimate nap,” Mr. Pendley said.

“We literally just napped,” Bryce said.

“Your hand was up his shirt.”

“Well, sometimes my hands wander when I sleep, and I end up touching stuff.” He cleared his throat and his cheeks reddened at the same time as Everett’s.

“Stuff,” Everett echoed and looked at his knees, a smile tugging at his lips.

Bryce coughed. “I won’t clarify.”

Mr. Pendley looked at his wristwatch. “It’s eleven. Your grandfather called you, and I was kind enough to answer it for you. He’s not entirely pleased about this.”

“You told him I slept with Everett? He’s going to think we slept together—like
slept
slept,” Bryce said.

Everett was on a roll of disappointing his grandfather one action at a time.

“I should be going.” Everett crawled off the bed.

“You can keep the clothes. They fit you,” Bryce said.

“They’re far too large,” Mr. Pendley commented.

“Exactly.” Bryce kicked back against his headrest. His eyes were a sultry mix of black and gray that Everett found sexy.

Everett wanted to get back in bed with Bryce, but Mr. Pendley’s eyes killed the allure he felt. Mr. Pendley was a cockblock, he thought with a shy smile that quickly warped into guilt. His grandfather wasn’t going to be pleased at all.

“I’ll see you later?” Bryce asked.

“Absolutely,” Everett said, wondering where his confidence was coming from when Mr. Pendley was in the same room.

He took his phone from Mr. Pendley’s cold hand and grabbed his bag from the hallway where it was propped against the staircase railing. He remembered putting it down in Bryce’s room, but he kept his surprise internal.

Mr. Pendley followed Everett down the stairs.

“Bryce is dangerous,” Mr. Pendley said when they reached the bottom.

“What is he?” Everett asked.

“Nothing you should be involved with.”

“I know he’s a hybrid.”

Mr. Pendley grabbed Everett’s shoulder and gently pulled him back. “Are you going to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong again?”

“Both his parents are pure witches, correct?” Everett asked.

“You should not involve yourself with him. You are too dangerous for each other.”

Melinda walked past them with a laptop and charger. She paid little attention to her father’s grip on Everett’s shoulder. She darted up the stairs on quiet toes.

Mr. Pendley’s next words were sharp whispers. “If you go against my warning, do
not
bring Bryce into the witching world.”

“Why? Is he in danger?”

“No.
He
is the danger.”

EVERETT NEEDED
access to the Order’s website. Though he was eighteen, he wouldn’t get the passwords until he underwent a thorough examination by the Order. Yet for every law there was a lawbreaker. There were witches who had the passwords and weren’t of age or weren’t permitted to browse the site. Everett didn’t know any witches who would help him—but he knew someone who might.

He hung around the front of the shop in the morning, doing everything he could that was in view of the display windows. When Jake’s mother appeared in the storefront with her two hellhounds and neon workout clothes, he greeted her and asked if she could come inside for a minute.

“Could I have Jake’s phone number? I met him the other day, and I didn’t think to ask for his number.” Everett held the shelf duster with two hands and pressed the handle to his heart, the microfiber head pointing at one of the dogs. The dog snapped at it, and Everett let go.

The woman spoke to the dog in a foreign tongue that slurred and lisped. The dog’s ears folded flat against its head, and it dropped the duster on the ground.

As Everett picked it up, the dog matched gazes with him.

The duster was intact and wet with the dog’s saliva.

“Bad dog,” the woman spat and snapped the leash. The dog continued to stare at Everett.

“Don’t worry about it. Can I have Jake’s number?”

“Of course. It’s great that he’s making friends I approve of. The three knuckleheads he hangs out with are a terrible influence. Do you have a paper I can write on?”

Everett tore a square of unused receipt paper from the register and rolled a pen across the counter. She slapped it down with her hand and uncapped it by sliding her thumbnail under the cap. She wrote Jake’s number in a bubble font hand.

The dog that had slobbered over Everett’s duster was watching him. It knew the duster was soaked with a brew. If hellhounds could internally communicate with their witches, Jake’s mother would know of the spell soon. She would walk outside, the dog would whisper the happening in her mind, and she would counteract with a block or a complaint to Everett’s grandfather.

She wouldn’t make a spectacle of the brew; Everett didn’t perceive her as an attention seeker. No, she was the subtle type. She fought back with small actions, just as she moved with tiny flourishes that everyone noticed but never viewed as showy.

“How was the move?” She flipped her wrist, presenting the receipt paper between two fingers. The veins on the inside of her wrist appeared thick, but upon closer look they were part of a faint tattoo. A line zigzagged between two parallel lines.

She neutrally watched Everett’s face.

He had never seen the tattoo before, but the Order’s website should have an explanation on it. There had to be a goldmine of information.

Everett took the receipt and mumbled his thanks.

“He’s with his friends right now, so he may not answer. He’s been with his friends an awful lot this month.”

“Where do they hang out? Underground raves?”

“I don’t know, but Jake promised me he isn’t chugging alcohol or participating in those awful teen parties.” She rolled the pen next to the cash register. “You should join them, see what danger they’re getting into, and report back to me. You have that look. Innocent like an angel, but smart like the devil.”

“I wouldn’t blend in with normal teenagers,” Everett said.

“Wherever they go, I’m sure you’d blend in.”

Everett exhaled and carefully said, “I know you’re a witch, and I know your dogs are hellhounds.”

She smiled. “A smart boy like you would know when to get involved.”

“You want me to spy on your son.”

She made a pained face. “It sounds horrible.
Spying
. But the truth is I need someone to watch over him. He has been spending too much time with the wrong crowd. I’m concerned their poor choices are influencing him.”

“I’ll see if I have time. I have stuff to do outside of the shop now.”

If Everett didn’t have time, he’d have to force time in. Jake’s mother was onto something.

“HELLO?” JAKE
said.

Everett pinned the phone between his ear and shoulder as he set up his desk for a tracking spell. “Good afternoon, Jake. This is Everett from the Quick Spell Bookshop. I noticed you were looking up brews on your laptop yesterday. If you need help, I can toss a few ingredients in.”

Jake was silent.

Everett rolled a map of northern California on his desk and flattened the corners with paperweight rocks. “I don’t know what kind of brew it is, but if you tell me, I can help you. Brews can be a pain in the ass.”

“You want to help? Why?”

“I’m bored, and I haven’t spent a lot of time with other witches. Your mother gave me your number and encouraged me to talk to you.”

“My mom gave you my—of course! Sure. That’d be awesome. When are you free?”

“I can leave the shop at six, so it depends on how far you want me to go.” Everett poured salt on the duster’s head.
Follow the hellhound
. The salt collected over the dog’s saliva, then ran down the duster to the map. The grains rolled in a thin line to Bryce’s gated community. “I think your mother mentioned Northleaf?”

“Ashville, actually. I live in Northleaf.”

That wasn’t a lie, according to the location spell.

“So you want me to meet you in Ashville?”

Jake gave the address of a house on the same street Omar lived on. “I’m with a friend, if you don’t mind.”

“That’d be great. Another witch?”

“Uh—yeah.”

Everett repeated the address. “I’ll arrive around six thirty at the latest.”

Everett parked behind a row of three vehicles.

THE ADDRESS
Jake gave was several houses down from Omar. It was a plain white house with dying lawns and a crooked mailbox. The windows had mildew and the curtains were uglier than the ones Everett had had at his old house. There were water stains on one side of the wall and paint was flaking off the front door. A spider made a home in the corner of the porch, next to the hanging lamp that lacked a lightbulb and was filled with cobwebs and dead insects.

Everett knocked and the door creaked under his knuckles. He projected a mental call for Buzz.

“Buzz, can you get over here? You’ve been with your friends long enough. I might be coming across a breakthrough.”

Several deadbolts unlocked and the door opened, then hung in place because one chain lock hadn’t been completely removed. A woman swore, apologized, and then closed the door to draw the chain back. The door swung open and a tall woman—teen?—stood between the door and the frame. She held the door open with a stretched arm that was corded with lean muscle.

Everett placed her between eighteen and twentysomething years. Her mouth was wide, her lips were thin, and it looked like they had a tendency to smirk, based on their natural tilt. She brushed her palm over her head and her short spikes stiffly moved under her touch.

Everett stuck his hand out. “I’m Everett.”

“Jake said you were coming,” she said, ignoring Everett’s hand. “I’m Lena.”

Nobody lived in the house. The house smelled stale and wasn’t warm. The carpet was stained and there were indentations where furniture legs used to be. There were cheap stand-up lamps in each room, but they didn’t belong in this house.

Lena and Everett went to the end of the long hallway where there was a doorframe that lacked a door. This was the master bedroom. Someone was in the bathroom; light spilled under the door. Jake was sitting on a floor cushion with a large spell book opened to a middle page. An array of ingredients lay on either side of a foot-wide wooden bowl. There were three unused cushions in the room, two recently used and one plump from absence of use.

Everett put his bag next to the other three open bags behind Jake. One of the bags was a small backpack that had four sheathed blades. Another bag was a cloth knapsack that had vials of liquid and plants. The largest bag was a smaller version of a martial arts equipment bag and had piles of titleless books. One of the books had slipped down its pile at an angle. A rainbow of sticky notes poked out of the pages.

Lena grabbed her phone and sat on her cushion, texting a storm. Jake was scowling down at the spell book, an unnatural layer of sweat coating his face and neck.

“Are you all right? You’re sweating a river,” Everett said.

Lena looked up from her phone and looked offended on behalf of Jake. “It’s summer.”

“It’s not
that
hot. You’re sweating like a hybrid in disguise.”

Lena acted as though Everett’s joke was a physical slap on the back. Her eyes comically bugged open, and she leaned off his cushion.

Jake wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “It’s a joke, Lena.”

“Better make it obvious next time.” Lena pointed at Everett’s face, then sat back on her cushion and texted. “Bryce can’t make it because of tae kwon do.”