Free The Bridge by Rachel Lou Page B

were busier here than in downtown Ashville. Sundale had more shops, and during the day there was a more favorable shopping atmosphere for families. At night, Sundale’s bars and clubs provided entertainment for the rowdy crowd, and the town’s party animals came out to play.
    Ghosts would be coming here for bridge access, and Everett would have to provide it in the midst of a crowded area. And there were security cameras on the stoplights of the intersection, so anything crazy Everett did would be recorded.
    His grandfather peeked into the apartment. “I have to use the toilet. Can you watch the shop for me?”
    “How long does it take to use the toilet?” Everett asked.
    “I’m an old man. Do not put high expectations on me.”
    Everett went down the wooden staircase and made a note to himself to polish it when he got the chance.
    A group of teen girls crowded around the bestseller rack. Two boys cruised in the nonfiction aisle, talking about making a move on the girls. Everett went by unnoticed.
    He sat behind the checkout counter and kept an eye on the teens and the security camera feed on the old TV under the counter.
    When the girls checked out with six books, the boys got in line behind them.
    “Those boys are looking at you,” Everett said, taking his time with scanning the barcodes.
    “We know. They’re really creepy,” one of the girls said, leaning forward so Everett could catch her whisper.
    Typically, teen boys stirred the most trouble with their rowdiness. Girls were like tranquilizers. They calmed the boys, but they suffered the stares and stalking.
    “I’ll stall them for you.”
    “That’d be amazing,” another girl said.
    While Everett checked the boys out, he touched the salt packet in his pocket and made a few books fall off a shelf.
    Dizziness hit him like a brick, and he wavered.
    One of the boys leaned over the counter, his hand raising and lowering from its edge as if he wasn’t sure if he should touch Everett. “Dude, you all right?”
    He nodded. “Just a little woozy. Could one of you pick those books up?”
    One of the boys went to reshelf the fallen books, looking a little woozy himself.
    “Do you need a doctor or something?” another boy said.
    “I’m fine. Is this all you’re buying?”
    He checked them out slowly, his dizziness making him accidently charge them twice. He apologized for his sloppiness.
    His grandfather came down the staircase. “Everett, are you feeling dizzy again?”
    “Just a little spell. I’m fine.”
    His grandfather gave him a knowing look. “I’ll take over. Why don’t you rest upstairs?”
     
     
    EVERETT HAD finished cleaning the kitchen and living room by the time the shop closed. His grandfather hadn’t forgotten about the spell.
    “Just a little spell? You looked pretty pale.”
    “The boys were stalking girls so I stalled them by making a few books fall over.”
    His grandfather silently grabbed a broom and went to the hall. “I don’t think you understand how important it is that you conserve your energy.”
    “I can lengthen my endurance if I keep practicing.”
    “You shouldn’t do it on a whim. You need a mentor.”
    “I’d have one if Omar was here.” Everett mopped the bathroom tiles vigorously. “I think he’d tell me to consistently cast spells. He’d give me a workout to expand my energy pool.”
    His grandfather paused in front of the bathroom doorway. “He’d teach you how to efficiently cast spells. Your endurance doesn’t matter if you know how to use your current pool.”
    “I know how to use it. I know the spells that drain me of the most energy. I know the spells that require all my energy.”
    “You don’t.”
    Everett glared. “I do.”
    But he didn’t. He used to. Bridging spirits used to bite a huge chunk out of his energy, but when he had bridged the ghost girl, he only felt a slight pang. He had even been able to maintain the bridge without meaning to. Exposing paranormal traces were