Life With A Werewolf (Book)

Reading ModePrint
(9)
Rated: 18+ · Book · Horror/Scary · #2284649

Adventures In Living With The Mythical

A military veteran is adopted by a werewolf and brought into his pack. Insanity ensues.

About "Life With A Werewolf"

Life with a werewolf is a dramatic blog. As such the characters in this blog are not real but maybe loosely based on real people. The situations represented are not real but maybe loosely based on real things that have happened in my life. There are a multitude of ways to view life, this is simply one of the ways I have chosen to view mine. Updated Every Friday unless I can't or don't want to.

If this is your first time reading this...start here:

https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1040400-Welcome-To-The-Pack

The first year is available as a compilation in print and on Amazon Kindle:
https://a.co/d/gBLLL7E

The first year is currently available on audible:
https://www.audible.com/pd/B0G3SMJGFN/?source_code=AUDFPWS0223189MWT-BK-ACX0-482...

My book, "Dreamers of The Sea" is available now on Amazon:
https://a.co/d/0uz7xa3
June 12, 2026 at 12:51pm
June 12, 2026 at 12:51pm
#1117576
         Valyur didn't hear the battle between Crash and the other werewolves. The interlopers who seemed to want his territory, to want Crash himself and his clan dead. But he could sense it. When the explosion went off, it was far enough that they couldn't hear it at their property. But it certainly was felt. The entire energy of the house and the meaties inside it had turned.
          Energy just wasn't something that the meaties understood much. To them, it was so one dimensional. They could use the energy that flowed through their walls from the giant buildings and things they made far away. But they couldn't see or manipulate the energy around them. All living things contained it and in truth, was made up of it. Using it, communicating it, manipulating it was how a lawn gnome got his power. It was how they protected their chosen clan of meaties. It was how Valyur was going to redeem his own clan and repay the debt owed.
          The dark energy inside the home made Valyur take his eyes off the skies that evening as he pushed downward with his own energy, toward the flow, deep into the Earth. It usually thrummed, pulsing with its own power. But that night, the energy was different. Someone was lost there, locked out of the energy, stuck in a void between light and darkness. He pulled back from the power. There was something wrong. Something powerfully wrong.
          He looked upon his wife's face, gently touching her chin. Then the soft crack at the top of her head. The spot where the old meaties in her old home had done so much harm to her. Had been so wrong. "This may be the night, dearie. Something is a foot. The energies, they don't feel right."
          Auburn grabbed his hands, and pulled them down. She could hear the fear in his voice. Valyur had never been afraid of anything as long as she had known him.
          "Please, don't do anything crazy," Auburn whispered back. "I..." The tears in her eyes burned Valyur to his soul.
          "I will try to be careful dearie," Valyur said. "But I made a solemn vow to those folks. I'll fulfill it. To the death if need be. You know why."
          She nodded. "I know. Falkirk's debt." She tried to hide it, but a tear fell from her face. Neither gnome could see the golden eyes watching them from the tree tops. As if stalking them.
          He touched her chin gently. "I won't ask you to make any such sacrifices. If things begin to go badly, make for the woods like we planned."
          He didn't look at the crack in her head. She was still self-conscious of it, even though to him it made her more beautiful. It had been healing nicely, but it would always be there. Humans got scars, lawn gnomes got cracks. It was a visible reminder of how cruel humanity can be to creatures and things who don't fight back.
          He needed to see more of the wrongness in the energy. To read it clearly. There was nothing in the road. And the lawn itself seemed safe. The sky above them had been clear all night, no sign of the deadly dragons that was so vicious to lawn gnomes. Perhaps it was safe.
          Auburn turned to look into the woods as Val scanned the highways. Her eyes locked with the golden ones in the trees. Her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she couldn't move as she stared at the creature. Was it a dragon? It was so high up, it had to be. But no stone dragon ever came that close, did they?
          "Valyur?"
          Valyur reached out into the energies of the Earth, energies that humans forgott were even there. As he did so, the golden eyes behind them looked skyward, and the creature in the trees jumped, flapping great wings once to gain quick altitude as quietly as possible.
          "Val?"
          "Yes," He looked towards Auburn who pointed nervously towards the woods.
          "There's eyes of...." there was nothing there. Only trees, leaves and darkness. And the distant sound of a slowly chattering brook.
          "What did you see," Valyur asked, as he stepped cautiously towards the tree line. He disconnected from the ancient deep power as he did. Auburn was no liar. If she said she saw something, then she saw it.
          His tiny feet moved swiftly and silently through the grass, stalking towards the tall trees. A grim determination in his eyes. He never saw Auburn turn away and looked upward, as if scanning for something. He never saw the glint in the air that almost twinkled like a star before it dove down in an attack.
          Valyur peered into the dark, pushing gently with energy, trying to get a sense of the forms out there. Trees. Leaves. And then fur and fangs and...
          Auburn's panicked scream made him stop.
          "Dragon!"
          "What?!" He turned towards her, eyes wide, mouth open. Not a dragon, not now!
          Two large furry forms exploded out of the woods and blew past Valyur as they sprinted impossibly fast towards the door. His command to his wife was given in a single glance. Get to the trees. Follow the plan.
          His hands glowed as he stuck them into the ground. They were within two paces of the back door. The creatures leaped into the air, claws out, fangs dripping with saliva as if in preparation to drip with blood.
          With a low grunt of effort, Valyur pushed energy into the Earth. Grabbing it, controlling it as best as he could. That energy slammed back into him powerfully, pulsing inside of his form, pushing outwards on it, threatening to crack him.
         Thick roots exploded out of the ground. The two wolves had come close enough to the door to leave scratch marks on it before the roots wrapped around them, and slammed them down hard onto the yard.
          The werewolves writhed and bit, surprised at the roots grabbing them. Their claws ripped into the thick limbs from the Earth, trying to drag them down. Valyur pushed harder than pulled, the energy crackling in his ears. He could feel the tendrils of power pulsing inside him, pushing outwards harder, causing his very body to swell in pain. A lawn gnome could only manipulate so much energy.
         The power twisted within him as he felt someone join their energy to his to help him control it. The form felt familiar. He could feel their hands on his shoulders. Human hands. It was the being trapped between light and dark, the one torn between worlds. He knew him.
          "Jason?" Valyur whispered. The roots almost faltered. Werewolves scrambled, almost getting out of the roots, claws digging into the ground, snarls and growls of effort and anger rising up.
         The lawn gnome shook his head and pulled as much power as he could. He gritted his teeth hard enough to crack them. His arms hurt. His legs hurt. He felt the hands on his shoulder as if they were actually there, giving them their own power. Their own control.
          "You'll not get through, meaties," he grunted. More roots exploded from the Earth, and shot towards the werewolves.
          While Valyur was fighting off the werewolves, Auburn was watching the dragon. It had dove over the lawn, forcing her to duck. Then the creature swooped upwards, in preparation for an attack. It seemed to smirk as it paused in mid air. Then it dived downward, claws out, mouth open in a snarl. To her, it looked like an eagle trying to snatch a fish out of a pound. Only that fish was her husband.
          "No," she moaned, trying to pull energy to give him some protection, but it was no use. The dragon was just too quick. She could only watch in horror as the dragon swooped down. Soon, there would be the sound of shattered ceramic. The horrible sound of a dragon gorging on gnome. And then she'd be alone again. Or she'd be next. She held her breath, pulling as much as fast as she could.
          A black and blue blur slammed into the gold and green blur, knocking it off course. The dragon slammed into the ground next to Valyur.
          The black and blue dragon stopped for a moment and winked at Auburn, then commenced the attack on the first dragon. Darting this way and that in the air. They occasionally belched fire and roared threats. It was the strangest thing a lawn gnome had ever seen. No lawn gnome she had ever known or heard of had ever been saved by a stone dragon.
          Valyur paid the dragon no attention. His energy was pouring into the attack, and most of that energy had pushed past hurt and traveled well into agony. He cried out in pain and rage. Cracks formed in his legs. The energy wanted to force it's way outward, to push his very atoms apart and throw them in a million directions. The only thing holding him together was the hands gripping his shoulders.
          He was giving it everything he had and the werewolves were still getting free. They slashed and clawed at the roots, ripping and gnawing at them. Green sap splattered over them like blood. For every root they had ripped apart a second and third appeared. But those roots that appeared were weaker. Thinner.
          "I said, no." Valyur gasped, pushing his arms further into the dirt. Lines of energy traced up his arms and legs like cracks. Paint cracked and peeled off of his ceramic body. His eyes glowed bluish white with power. "You'll. Not. Get. Through!"
          A thicker root sprouted. It was the thickest one that Valyur could conjure up. His vision swam as the root punched through a werewolf. With as much strength as he could muster, he forced the roots to sprout and grow into the creatures body. It growled at first, ears pinned, muzzle curled up in vicious pain, but soon it began a strange keening whining sound. Valyur was almost there. He had almost killed the first one.
          The second werewolf wrenched free from the roots and hobbled towards the lawn gnome. Blood trailing behind him from the holes the roots had punched through its torso, it's leg, one arm.
         "We must kill them," he whimpered. "We got to kill them. No survivors. No survivors."
***
         Auburn raced towards the trees. She had watched the first werewolf break free and didn't stick around to see the rest. She had to get to the creek. The plan was always for her to slip back into the trees, go to Crash's work and get help. To do that, she had to follow the creek into the larger city, and slip up towards his office. She was never to attack, never to risk her own neck.
         But Auburn always had a different plan. She had been forced to watch as those cruel humans cracked her and smashed her clan. I'll be damned if I stand by and watch that happen again. Taking the accumulated energy she stored, she fired a single bolt into the woods. Three forms made from mud, twigs and sticks rose from the ground with a thick, deep growl.
          She looked up in time to see the werewolf kick Valyur. A loud crack could be heard ringing through the rural neighborhood. The sound of someone breaking a most precious and valuable ceramic pot. A vase that was worth more than the miserable soul who had smashed it. The energy pouring forth from his body stopped all at once. Valyur, armless, legless, flew through the air and landed on a bed of leaves by the tree line in front of Auburn. Thick roots collapsed to the ground.
          The werewolf that had kicked Valyur panted, staring at the ground. "Never trust a dragon," it muttered. It wasn't limping anymore. It's dark fur was streaked with blood. The first werewolf was still pulling roots out of it's body, whimpering and whining with each one.
          "When you're ready," growled the other werewolf as the first one pulled the last of the root out of it's abdomen. "We're supposed to be quick."
          "Yeah," his associate grumbled, panting in pain. "But Generale Alexandre had said the lawn gnome would be taken care of." His muzzle wrinkled back in disgust. He hated killing humans. It always felt wrong. But orders were orders. In The Nobility, you didn't argue your orders, you just followed them. He turned towards the door, and prepared to kick it in. He paid no attention to what was rising up behind them.
          The first werewolf turned to see what was casting a shadow over their forms. He gave a single whine of terror, and grabbed his associate with one paw. His ears folded back, he pointed a single, shaky claw at the shape with the other.
          "What is it," the second grunted and turned to look up into the enraged eyes of Auburn.
          Behind them stood the three largest golems they had ever seen. Auburn stood on the shoulder of one, her eyes glowing with malice and power. The wall of mud collapsed upon them before either had a chance to move.
          Using the golems, she dragged them both towards the woods filling in the torn ground and forcing up grass growing back in their wake. No evidence of their fight would be seen. As they neared the creek, she pulled the two werewolves down into the dirt, burying them deep inside. A single loud, pained whine rose up from the crack in the Earth before it filled in. They would be seen no more.
           Auburn walked slowly out of the tree line as the human named Zack ran out the back door, holding a pistol. "Crash?!" He called out. "Crash! You okay?"
          There was nothing. No response from Crash, no growl or bark or whatever of triumph from something else.
          Zack walked around, as if scanning for threats. Then he saw her. She didn't care. The woods felt colder. The yard felt darker. She watched as he stalked around the yard, the weapon held downward in the manner that Jason and Crash had been teaching him.
          "Crash?"
          "Down here," Valyur groaned. Auburn knelt to him, and pulled his head into her lap. She touched and held him close. He was cracking from the inside. She could feel it. It was too much energy, just too much. Her eyes teared up as she held him close.
          Zack knelt down and gasped at his shape. "Val!"
          He laughed. "You should see the other guy, meatie." Dust trickled out of the holes that were his arms and legs. Paint had peeled off of most of his form. "I guess I fulfilled my mission."
          Zack wiped his eyes. "You can't die. You can't. Jason will be here this morning! You're supposed to die for him, not us! That's the deal, you're supposed to,"
          "Jason ain't coming," Valyur whispered.
          Auburn's jaw dropped open for a moment. Zack's breath caught. It was as if his lungs has forgotten their purpose for a moment. Then with strained breath he said "What do you mean?"
          Valyur could read the accusation on Zack's face. He shook his head. "No. They tried. They tried their best, meatie. But your friend is too damn stubborn to die. But that means he's stuck. I'll get him unstuck."
          Auburn watched as Zack stood. He wiped his eyes and walked towards the house, cell phone in his hand. With a shaky hand he found a single contact and dialed.
          Auburn leaned down and gently kissed her husband on the head. "You can't even go into the after life quietly can you?" She gave him a pained smile.
          "My family has done so much to his," Valyur said to her.
          She nodded. "I understand." She held him close as cracks began to form all over his body. "Go to your family. Say hello to Falkirk for me."
          It wasn't long before she was holding nothing but sand.
          Auburn's cries started soft, but soon grew louder and more gentle as the night went on. A single dragon swooped down. The one that had saved her earlier. She looked up at it, no longer afraid. She was prepared to join her husband if that was its plan.
          Instead, the stone creature knelt in front of her, bowed it's head a single time. "A sign of respect from my kind to yours." It said. "I had watched Valyur for a long time. He was an honorable gnome."
          It stood, then leaped into the air. With two great beat of its wings, the dragon was gone.
          Zack stood on the back step, cellphone clutched in his hand. "I don't give a damn what Crash told you," he said. "Get your asses down here."
*Thought*  Comment
May 29, 2026 at 2:03pm
May 29, 2026 at 2:03pm
#1116673
         Hey everyone, it's Crash. You may be wondering what I had been up to while Jason was getting himself blown up. Well, my night can be summed up in one word: sucked. After Alexandre made his introductions, I shifted faster than normal and slipped into the tree line next to our home. Normally, I try to wait until nightfall before I go into the woods to do my work. But with Alexandre's introduction, the supposed claim on my house, and the threat of the Nobility infiltrating my county, I didn't have much of a choice.
          My "replacements" weren't exactly being quiet about the job they were doing. They started with "requests for move" which is technically what they say they're supposed to do. For "peace and tranquility of the human herd, blah, blah, blah." Those "requests for move" quickly became threats, which started turning violent.
          I wasn't fast enough to stop two deaths. Head's left piked in front lawns of wolves who told the Nobility to get fucked. The pikes when I came by them were dripping with blood, sometimes with people half transformed before their heads were violently removed from their bodies. The only thing left in their wake is widows and loved ones holding a headless corpse and crying.
          There was nothing I wanted more than to stop by, comfort those threatened and assure them that everything was being done to protect them. To help and reassure those who had lost someone. But if I'd done that, I would have never caught up to the bastards wreaking havoc. And the best thing I could have done for those who had been threatened, those who had been killed, was to give them the pint of blood they were due.
          Those bastards were smart, I'll give them that. One guy had followed a creek, the other a forgotten highway that is little used with anything faster than a tractor. A third was cutting through the woods itself. The plan was to zigzag through most of the major communities, it seemed, and spread as much terror and horror through the towns as possible. They were going to meet in the center, a place where, if you didn't know the Nobility all that well, you'd assume was the perfect spot to attack them.
          But my time with the Rodriguez clan had taught me a few things. Namely that the Nobility doesn't have a problem with having someone at their meeting spot in human form spraying silver bullets down on anyone who wasn't Nobility. No, the smart play for them is to catch up to them before they met up. Or at least I figured it would be. Pick them off before they met up, then maybe help the police deal with the mystery fourth person whoever they may be.
          I had been tracking the one moving through the creek since he was the closest to me. It hadn't taken much. Like I said before, they weren't being subtle, and the trail of destruction was like they had wanted to be found. But, I was far too angry to notice such obvious clues at that point. All I had known was I was pissed, and he was within eye sight.
          The wolf was mostly gray. He had black fur flecks in his ears. He definitely smelled Nobility as well. One thing the Nobility does, is they scent mark themselves with expensive flowers, whatever flowers might happen to be in season for the time. It is like a uniform of sorts for them. Stands out to us werewolves, but your kind would never notice it.
          Since he was more or less following the creek, I figured I'd be smart. I cut through the woods, and rounded to a lamp post that I knew was on the edge of the creek near the edge of a town. It was going to be easy. I leap out from the shadows, and drag him back into them. Then the Nobility is down one werewolf and I only have two left. Or so I thought. Shows how little even I know at times. I'll give the Nobility one thing. They certainly played me for a fool.
          I waited in the shadows. When he came close, I leapt out at him. The wolf didn't see me coming. But, I was so concentrated on the wolf that was killing and harassing our citizens, I wasn't paying attention to the one stalking me.
          With fury and vengeance I leapt, fire in my eyes, drool dripping off my fangs. I'd love to say I gave some bad ass line when I did. Growled a threat that was equivalent to Bruce Campbell smirking "come get some" in Army of Darkness. But, in truth, all I did was growl. As low and vicious as I could make it.
          There was a brief touch of my claws against fur. Then I caught a glimpse of movement in my peripheral. I looked up and saw a silvery brownish wall of fur coming straight at me. All I could do was twist into it. The form hit me hard, knocking the wind out of me and slamming me into the ground. I lifted my knee into him, but was rewarded with the first werewolf slashing at my face.
          It definitely was a pup. Any old wolf knows you don't play around like you're a monster in a cheesy scary movie. Go for the throat as quick as you can. Otherwise, you could end up regretting it.
          I slashed quickly, taking out the Achilles heel on the young pup's left foot. What can I say, some lessons are painful. It yelped and stumbled backwards, almost falling over. This was while dodging the one on top. He was snarling and snapping at my throat as quick as it could. I dodged and snapped back, getting nowhere. It wouldn't be long before the young pup would be back in the fight. Werewolves heal quick, after all.
          He snapped, I dodged to the left. He snapped, I dodged to the right. He tried to follow with his muzzle, and I grabbed his ear with my claws and began tearing. The ripping flesh made the wolf yelp then whine in pain, rearing back enough for me to kick him off. He climbed to his feet as quick as he could. It was a stare off with two werewolves, one at my right and one at my left.
          The sun had just started setting. We weren't exactly in the middle of nowhere. A few houses were scattered along the stretch of road we were on, with mostly green grass and trees to witness our particular corner. But we weren't completely obscure. If I had the ability to stop and observe the homes, one a nice cottage, another a double-wide trailer, I'd be able to see the glint of dying sunlight coming off their windows. I had to get this fight in private, and fast.
          One came in with his claws, another with teeth. I slashed and dodged, then kicked off one and spun in mid-air only to be tackled by the young werewolf and bitten on the shoulder. I cried out and slashed into his pelt. He jumped to his feet before I could do any real damage.
          I was panting. The bastard was grinning and wagging his tail. Damned arrogant young werewolves and their speed. The larger one slashed at me, I ducked and was struck by the younger werewolf again. He was on my back, holding me, claws digging into my flesh as I tried to dodge. It was looking grim.
          His claws dug into my chest and shoulder on one side, my hip on the other. He was grabbing on with his teeth and holding my other shoulder, trying to work towards my jugular. The other werewolf slashed, and snarled, hitting my gut, my legs. It cut through my natural pain tolerance and was beginning to hurt.
          Soon, it became too much. I fell to my knees. Looking up at the werewolf standing above me, he smirked in that way we werewolves do, in our ears and not with our mouths. "Not as tough as they claimed."
          He reared back. I glared up at him. Then a brown blur slammed into him, knocking him off his feet. The young pup looked up at the wrong time. While the other werewolf was getting up, my boss grabbed the younger werewolf and ended him quickly, tossing his body onto the street.
          The other werewolf looked at us both and dove for the woods. I gasped and nodded my thanks to my boss, then prepared to go after him. I was still bleeding, but most of my wounds were healing and before I caught up to him, I'd have been as close to one hundred percent as a werewolf could get.
          The explosion didn't sound like a loud boom where we were standing. It was a duller thump. Like someone two houses away hit the bass drum as hard as they could once. Me and boss both looked at each other, panic in our ears and on our muzzles. "Office" was all we said to each other.
          We raced towards the building that we both had jokingly called 'home' at one point or another. We had been there so much. There was so many friends who worked there. Many who had never taken another life. Just because they were a werewolf, didn't automatically make them a killer. There was one in our office who was a strict vegetarian cause they didn't like the thought of eating something that lived and breathed. Now that person may have been dead. As well as Jason.
          I ran harder. It was all I could do. I was not prepared for the carnage that would await me or for the rest of the horror, but I knew one thing, Alexandre was going to pay.
*Thought*  Comment
May 22, 2026 at 12:30pm
May 22, 2026 at 12:30pm
#1116266
         The picnic basket sat in the back seat, jostling around as I drove into work. Normally, I don't drive into work in the evening. Boss likes to keep me working the normal day shift, preferably afternoons. After all, it's when they get the most calls from humans. Who better to talk to a human than another human? It's also how they can keep me on part time. Besides, most of the excitement is at night, and in general, they like to keep the human away from that. Not because I can't handle it. But because, I suspect, they think I'll be too likely to jump in and assist.
          After the threat we'd gotten from the royal inbred, I figured they'd need me that evening. Besides, I still had to inform boss that we were going to be at war. Which turned out to be a useless gesture. From the state of the office, he already knew. And had a good idea who the war was against.
          When I'd gotten there, all hell had not quite broken loose. Not yet. But it had sawed through the bars and was lowering the makeshift rope out the side window of it's jail cell.
          The phone was ringing off the hook. Boss had shifted in office and was in full werebear mode. I brought the picnic basket in to his office, and began to explain. "It's what's left of..."
           "Put it in the back," he snarled, cutting me off. "We'll contact his family tomorrow. Crash has already been in one fight, and I got to go assist before he gets himself killed."
          I set the picnic basket on the table in the break room, not knowing what else to do with it. After all, we didn't exactly have a morgue attached to our building or anything. And there wasn't much of a risk of anyone looking inside it. No one was going to get time to eat that night.
         In hindsight, I suppose I should had felt something off. All I knew was that it had some heft to it. There was so much going on at the time, that I didn't have a lot of time to diagnose where that heft was coming from. If I had, I'd have noticed how the weight felt weird. Perhaps I'd have taken a different action than setting it on a table at the rear of the building.
           Instead, I sat down at a cubicle and began fielding some of the saddest calls I'd received in my short time on the job. There was three werewolves alright. They were tearing a line of destruction through the county. They had started with idle threats. Explaining that they were the new law in town, and that every mythical had to either get with the program, leave, or die. Some of the ones who refused were already being made examples of.
           Werewolves got special treatment. Either pledge allegiance to the Nobility or suffer the consequences. I wasn't certain to the condition of Crash. He can't exactly carry a cell phone in that condition. After all, where would he put it? He also wouldn't be able to answer it if he did. We had our own system, but I'd have to wait for Crash to do a check in. Since boss was already on his way to him, that meant Crash had just checked in. So, his next check could be anywhere from two hours away to sunrise.
           Thinking on that lead me to another line of thought between calls. The trail of destruction from the three impostors was going to run foul of the police sooner or later. That would turn bloody most likely, due to the trio not recognizing the authority of the police. Even Crash and the office recognized their authority over certain aspects. They only intervened when it was obvious the law would die if they tried investigating.
           If the police were murdered by werewolves working for the county, wouldn't that cause those in power to want answers? To desire a change in leadership, or at least a change of affiliation? How much political pressure would it take after that to force a change? Wars are won on two fronts after all: logistically and politically.
          Crash and the rest of us would suddenly start talking about how nice Mexico sounded about this time of year if things went that way. And they certainly could. It was a political power play with the added benefit of bloodshed and payback for the Nobility. They could in the end pin the entire thing on me, and say that I wanted the war in the first place. After all, less than an hour prior I had called his entire lineage inbred half a dozen different times in the span of thirty seconds.
           Boss was already out the door. Crash was on patrol. Things were getting more hectic out there. In our office there was three other individuals working that night. Every one of them had asked not to be included in the blog when I was hired. I've respected their wishes up until now, and won't violate them after everything that had occurred.
         I've been told that things aren't my fault. I don't have the equipment for indepth detection like boss or Crash. They had taken measures to avoid detection, and besides, it's not like silver has a strong scent. Sometimes, you just get tricked. I'd been tricked. But tricked or no, you just don't get over making a mistake that big.
          At that moment in time, I was more focused on the trail of destruction the three werewolves were causing. It wasn't accidental or chosen at random. There was a deliberate trail being drawn through, one that had been picked out weeks ago.
         Noticing the trend, I asked the others to hold the phones for a bit while I grabbed the map to start tracking these calls and see where they were going. It took me about four minutes to find the cork board. Luckily it already had a map tacked onto it. Apparently the boards sole mission was to hold that map, something it had done skillfully for many years.
          Tracking the destruction was easy. One trail followed a creek in the south, where a family was threatened. A werewolf who vowed to die rather than join was killed and his head impaled on a stick in the front yard. An old punishment from the Nobility's reign of terror in Europe. Then it traveled north.
          Another came in from the northeast and was traveling south. A family of vampires had been threatened. Vampires believe in the long game when it came to such wars and simply agreed to move for now. Then they called us. If we didn't act, I'm certain there would be revenge within twenty to forty years, and it would be brutal and difficult to deal with. After them was a minotaur couple who was told to move or become hamburger. Then one very familiar hulderfolk family was attacked.
          The trail of destruction traveled southeast and crossing into every major community they could. They weren't being silent about things. They were threatening families in communities in the evening light, no less. The sun had barely crossed the horizon when I'd came in.
          Which gave credence to my theory. They wanted everyone to know. They wanted the uproar, the chaos. Regular people rightfully scared not understanding what a werewolf or a mythical was would start trying to defend their families believing monsters had come to life. The mythicals would start defending themselves and...
          It would become Doveland 2.0. The Nobility could sweep in and take over. Not only the werewolf community, but politically, socially, every facet of society almost. It was brilliant. It was destructive. It was horrifying.
          "Everyone shut up for a moment," I shouted, walking over to the board. The board had been pushed towards the front near the door where everyone could see it. The three individuals all reluctantly hung up their phones and stood. They looked at me impatiently.
          "I think I know what they're doing," I began.
           Boom!
          The explosion ripped through the office from the break room. The bomb planted in the picnic basket had went undetected. All I knew was I was going to talk. Then there was an explosion. And then there was darkness.
*Thought*  Comment
May 15, 2026 at 2:29pm
May 15, 2026 at 2:29pm
#1115785
         Some people don't hesitate to give you the right impression. From the way they talk, the way they move, how they take their sunglasses off, even to the pretentious vehicle they're driven around in, they do everything they can to make sure you hate them. Verner Behring's replacement certainly did just that.
          We did dislike him before he even spoke to us, but he really did give us a lot of reasons to hate him. It was in the evening when the car rolled to a stop in the middle of the street. It stopped in front of our house, blocking traffic that could come from both ways when it did stop. As if he owned the entire road and the county that the road rested in. By the time his driver got out and walked around the vehicle to let out his passenger, me and Crash were standing on our front porch watching him.
          The SUV stood out sharply in a community like ours. It was of European make, a luxury brand that I didn't immediately recognize. Something with a stylized animal in the logo and at least six zeros in the price. Six shades of purple was in the paint job, and also deep burgundy red that I'm certain was chosen cause it reminded him of blood. It was the type of paint job where all the colors had been flaked and faded into each other, so it appeared different depending on the angle you viewed it from. The driver was wearing an actual chauffeurs hat. You don't see too many of those in the Midwest, especially in small towns.
          The man raced to the rear door and pulled it open. The door was what they called a suicide door and opened opposite of the direction of the front. Then he stepped out. The driver took his sunglasses, and quickly closed the door after the man, then raced to sit back in the car, almost as if he knew the person walking up to us didn't wish to see him. I swear he was moving as if his life depended upon it. And from the way the man who approached the house acted, it may very well have.
          He was carrying a large picnic basket, one that set Crash's nerves on edge. I looked up to Crash. "Don't tell me to be nice."
          Crash growled, then patted me on the shoulder. A quiet signal that I didn't have to be. Not this time.
          His buttoned down coat wouldn't have looked out of place in a palace. The man was wearing a blood red ascot. It somehow made him look more pretentious and dangerous all at the same time. I could see from his shoes that each one was worth a thousand dollars or more. It wouldn't have surprised me in the slightest if he had been the type of person who didn't wash underwear, but wore them once and tossed them away afterwards.
          When he approached, he began to speak with a thick French accent. The curl in his lip said he hated everything about where he was and what he was looking at. It kind of made me proud in a strange way. Cause if my very existence can piss off the likes of him, then I'm doing something right.
          "I suppose I'm talking to the gentlemen of the house, in a manner of speaking," he said.
          "I own the house," Crash said.
          "Ah, yes, well not anymore. I am Alexandre Heroux, and I am replacing your kind. I've heard of you, and of your 'friend'. To ensure a smooth transition to our power, we now own the bank that holds your mortgage. You have exactly thirty days to offer resignation to your position and to vacate the premises."
                    Crash growled and was about to step down. He was preparing to shift anyway, and had already grown a part of a fur coat before I stepped in front of him. "You asking us for a picnic, cause I didn't get a chance to pick up the fancy wine," I said.
          He turned his head and snorted in disgust. "Yes, Jason Forte. The soldier. Everyone's favorite drinking buddy. I've heard of you, and your vulgarity."
          "Buddy," I smiled at him and threw my arms out as wide and welcoming as possible. "You have me at a disadvantage. You seem to believe that we were prepared to give a fuck. But you see, we gave our last one out this morning. We're fresh out of fucks to give right now." I snarled and pulled my pistol as quick as I could. He raised his eyes in surprise. I then pointed at the basket with the barrel. "Open it. Slowly."
          He gave me a growl, that, a few years ago would have taken me aback. "I see they got your reputation for vulgarity and stupidity accurate. Neither of you understand your betters. It's okay, I don't hold it against you. You are American, after all." With that, he lifted the lid of the basket.
          When someone dies, their muscles relax. All of them. It can be very difficult for loved ones to even identify their own children in such circumstances. That's part of the reason police departments tend to depend on things like DNA and dental records to identify the deceased, and not family members or loved ones. Still, I recognized the werewolf's head when I saw it.
         "Huh. Guillotined." It was all I could think to say.
          "Yes," he said. "He went out like the soldier he was. His bloodline still retains it's honor. He dishonored you in some small capacity of his position. This head is an apology for that."
          It was my turn to growl. Before I could say anything, Crash jumped in.
          "Friend, you misunderstand us. Your pet is going to shit on the curb, and I know you're not the kind of person to pick it up. So, I suggest you go." There was a glare in Crash's eye. One I recognized. There was going to be a fight soon if the idiot didn't leave. I wasn't certain I didn't want it.
          The interloper just took a deep breath, looking like a teacher who was dealing with a petulant child. "This is a peace offering in the hopes of a smooth transition of power. You do not want to go to war with us, mongrel. You had your fun, but the treaty has been broken. Pack up your things. Leave. You should start tonight. I will have three werewolves doing your job for you by sundown in this backwater inbred county."
          I began to laugh. He glared at me as if wondering what was so funny. "I know European royalty isn't trying to call us inbred. Aren't you the ones with the motto 'the closer the kin, the deeper in?' What was it you wanted to do, ensure that the blood line stayed pure, so you made sure the family tree didn't fork? I mean, I understand, after all, who better to love you than someone you knew your entire life, like your sister? What, are you pissed off that your mother/aunt/cousin isn't putting out tonight? I bet you're having an entire family reunion here all by yourself. Glad you brought your pet, you'll need someone to drive everybody..."
          He tried to hit me. He got as far as halfway before Crash intercepted him and struck him in the chest hard enough to make him stumble back two steps. It was within the span of a blink of an eye.
         He snarled, his eyes glowing as if ready to shift into his other form. "It is war then. I accept your challenge and will happily accept your surrender."
          He pointed at me. "And none of your pets gets a stay of execution this time. Any human or low creature associated with you mongrels is official combatants."
          He stormed off, leaving the basket with the werewolf's head in it in the grass. The driver raced to open the door for him, but was backhanded hard enough to knock him into the street. He climbed to his feet and opened the door all the same, keeping his eyes down at the ground. When he got settled inside, the door was slammed and the SUV sped off.
          I looked up at Crash after he left. "Was it something I said?"
          Crash growled. "No, he wants the war. Smug bastard thought he could scare you."
          "He's not too bright, is he," I said. I picked up the basket.
          "What are you going to do with that," Crash asked.
          "I'm going to bring it into work. His family will probably want the head with the body. Whatever family this poor guy had left," I said.
          "Be sure to tell boss that we got a war to prep for," Crash said.
          "I'll call the Rodriguez family," I said.
          "No," Crash snarled.
          I turned to him. "This is no time for grudges. We are going to need their help."
          "They're a last resort," Crash snarled. "Tell boss. He knows who to call."
          I prepared to head into work, wondering how much of Crash's instructions I should follow. If I ignored him and called them, they'd help, we could fend off the attack, whatever it was. Then he'd be pissed at me, probably mad enough to kick me out even. But, at least the county would be safe.
          Verner Behring had warned me that he would attack with a viciousness and intelligence I hadn't yet seen. I wished I had taken his warning far more seriously than I did. By the time I'd gotten to work, I was wishing I had already called the Rodriguez family in. By then it was far too late to make any phone calls at all.
*Thought*  Comment
May 8, 2026 at 2:11pm
May 8, 2026 at 2:11pm
#1115356
         The word schadenfreude came to mind when I saw him. The unkempt hair bore very little resemblance to the hundred dollar haircut that he had when I saw him last. His clothing wasn't bought at some boutique on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. They were torn, musty, and probably stolen from a Goodwill somewhere. But he had the same sharp look in his eyes when he saw me. Verner Behring didn't lose that at least.
          I knew he was hoping that we'd meet in some fancy restaurant. But, I couldn't afford such places, so I deliberately chose the fast food location that Mitch worked at. I made sure to arrive in the middle of his shift. Whatever Verner was up to, I wanted to be prepared.
          His sight frightened me at first. When approached he looked at me with large puppy dog eyes outside the restaurant. Words cannot explain the amount of damage I would like to have done to him. But it appeared that life had beaten me to it. The exhaustion and sadness in his eyes pulled at my heart strings enough that I paid for his meal.
          After getting our burgers, his being much larger than mine, I carried our food to the booth in the far corner and sat down. It was the only one in the restaurant that didn't leave one of us staring at the isle or the poor customers eating opposite. Verner glanced around, as if trying to find a spy hanging out near the bathroom or the side door. There was a defeated look on his face.
         "I never thought the last act I'd do on this Earth would be to help you," he said. He grabbed his massive burger and prepared to take a bite.
           I shrugged, "Well, I never thought we'd be dating, but here we are."
          "This isn't a date," he snarled, then a bit into his burger.
          "We met with the intention of spending time together and getting to know one another better. Plus, we met at a restaurant and I even paid for the food," I said.
          He cringed at the thought of actually dating a human. "I'd sooner date the albino," Verner grumbled.
          "Yes it is." I winked at him and blew kisses at him from across the table.
         He rolled his eyes. "This isn't a date. I'm here to tell you something, not to spend time with you."
          I smirked and took a pull from my soda. "That requires spending time with me."
          "You're an ass," Verner grumbled.
          "You're too kind," I laughed and began nibbling at my fries. "So, talk. Yes I told Crash. And my boss. They're both within earshot."
          "Not only that, but the albino in the back as well as the other werewolf that your boss called in, and the trolls who are sitting in the parking lot right now who think they're being sneaky," Verner said. He took a giant bite of his massive burger, nearly consuming one half of it. He chewed for a while, then wiped his chin. I just watched in amazement. That burger was nearly a pound of meat.
          "It's been days since I had human food," Verner said. "I apologize for my atrocious table manners. I've been living off of my hunting for weeks now and game is becoming scarce."
          I bit into my own sandwich as he smiled at me. "And now you are without a comment or a comeback. Have I finally disarmed the so-called razor whit of the great Jason Forte?"
          I rolled my eyes. "The only thing sharp about me is my knife," I said. "My whit isn't razor sharp. It's a bludgeoning object that I use repeatedly on the vain and inept."
          "I know," Verner said. "That was sarcasm."
          "If you have to say its sarcasm, then you're not being sarcastic," I replied. "You're just being dumb."
          "With the English lesson out of the way," Verner snarled. "I've come to warn you."
          "I know, someone took your place. And he's brand new to the job, so he's going to want to prove himself. The best way for him to do that, will be to tie up loose ends. How loose of an end am I?"
          Verner raised his eyes in surprise as he chewed threw another large bite of his burger. He drank down half his cola and wiped his mouth again. "That's the razor sharp whit I expected. The lone human who found a good use for zombies."
          "I got lucky," I said.
          He laughed. "We both know that. Tell that to the assholes who replaced me."
          "So, you were fired."
          "No," he said. Then he looked down at the table forlornly for a moment. "I'm to be executed. I had the displeasure of being exiled while the confederation came to a consensus about what to do with me."
          "So, switch sides," I said, leaning forward. "We can protect you, we can help you. We can..."
          His laughter cut my sales pitch off. "Your boss didn't approve your offer, I bet. You didn't even discuss it with him, did you?"
          I stared down at the table. He patted me on the shoulder. "You honestly want to help me."
          It was my turn to snarl. "You'd be a valuable source."
          He gave me a sad smile. "You are a good human. I wish we had met under different circumstances, I think perhaps you could have been a great asset for us."
          "So, why warn me," I asked.
          "I loved my job," he said. "I enjoyed what I did. I enjoyed helping humans. I bet you didn't know that, did you? Furthermore, I had several human friends, you know. Not pets. They weren't beneath me. They were just...different. To a werewolf, you're not a lower class being to be pitied. You're just a different species. One we must live in harmony with, one we must help to achieve their full potential in this dangerous and chaotic world."
          I rolled my eyes. "Spare me the sales pitch. Why are you warning me?"
          He looked out the window. "I wish you could have afforded a proper restaurant. It would have been nice to have a proper meal for my last meal. Maybe a good dessert wine and a waiter. I've always said that humans make the best wait staff. Honest, I mean that. It's a good compliment."
          "I'm sure you think so. You're going to make me guess, aren't you?"
          He leaned back and patted the table with his good arm. He was wearing that damning smirk on his face that he was so good at. "Why don't you try?"
          "Well," I said, "Let's walk through this logically. You told me you're being executed. You are acting like you're having a last meal, I'm not catching any falsehood off of you from that. You also have shown some disdain when talking about being replaced. So, you hate the person who took your job. You resent what the confederation is doing to you, but you're still loyal to the cause."
          "To a point," Verner said. "I may have failed to kill you, but I was a damn reliable and a damn intelligent operative. I did not deserve to be replaced or executed. This was his doing."
         He leaned forward, glared at me with that familiar glare. I could see a shadow of the wolf in his eyes. "I know you think I'm horrible. Incorrigible. But he is a thousand times worse. I actually like your kind. I admire you. He sees your kind as a nuisance. A mistake God made on his way to creating werewolves. One he intends to correct."
          "Sounds like a fun guy," I said. "Who is he?"
          "He will introduce himself. That is his way. He will declare formal war with you. Then he will attack you with a ferocity and intelligence you haven't seen. You, your department, your friends and family, everyone and everything you ever touched could be under attack. You will not see it coming."
          "So, I have to prepare for everything," I asked.
          "I sincerely hope you do it, you know," Verner said. "I hope you manage to kill that bastard and survive." Then he smiled. "Can I have a milkshake too?"
          "So, you want me to kill him?"
          "If anyone deserves it, it's that bastard," Verner said.
          "You're really being murdered," I asked.
          "Executed. Guillotined to be specific. I know you don't understand, but it's honor. What he is doing to the Werewolf Confederation and our human brethren is dishonorable. I'd rather die with honor than to serve dishonorably."
          I understood. Of all the things I wanted when I was serving in Uncle Sam's involuntary sandbox party, the one thing I wanted to do was come back alive. If I couldn't, I wanted to die with honor. I stood, and patted him on the shoulder. "I'll get you a milkshake. And another burger."
          He smiled, and patted my hand like an old friend. "See? We could have been good friends."
          I turned his hand pat into hand holding, and smiled "See? It's a date."
          He snarled at me and pulled away while I went to place the order. I sat with him and made small talk, which he's asked me not to print here, so I'm abiding by his wishes. If circumstances were different. If I hadn't known about werewolves, then I do believe we could have been friends. His pompous attitude is fun to prick, but he still tended to roll with the joke rather than take any real offense. I don't miss the meth headed vampire. I don't miss Kheid. But Verner, I'll miss in my own strange way. In a sense, I feel someone has to, and I'm not sure anyone else alive will.
          Needless to say, this hasn't helped my over preparing. The yard gets patrolled at night in the manner Uncle Sam trained me to. I have spent most of my money on silver bullets, and even have tried to instruct the guys on the basics of self-defense. They're just humoring me. But, bless their little hearts, they're trying.
          I do feel the coming storm. It will be a big one. I don't know how much I can protect my pack. I'm trying, but I just don't know how much I can do. It's like swimming against the current in a raging river. Is all we have, all we know going to be swept away?
*Thought*  Comment
April 18, 2026 at 2:47pm
April 18, 2026 at 2:47pm
#1113732
          Ah, the road to hell. It's paved with, well, good intentions, hard work, and a lot of lack of forethought. I've paved that road many times and have burned many bridges in the past. This is one of those times, this past week. And to be honest, I wouldn't blame Crash if he punted me to the curb. But, in my own defense, I'm still working out this entire "werewolf pack" thing. If he'd give me an instruction manual or something, it'd be a hell of a lot easier. But, they don't make such things. There really needs to be a book or something. I'd prefer a title called "Living With The Modern Werewolf".
          This all started because I was wanting to be nice. We had a cookout. Nothing fancy, a few burgers, some hot dogs, that sort of thing. Crash made his own special "werewolf burgers". Massive patties that came out to about 2/3 and 1 pound each, filled with bacon cheddar cheese and a hint of jalapeno peppers. One was enough for me, but him, Mitch and Elouise got large 1 pound burgers.
           Mitch was between relationships at that point. And pretty much between friends, families, you name it. He'd gotten promoted at work, but seemed to have gotten demoted in life. Everyone who's over the age of twenty five had been there at one point or another, so we all could at least identify with what he was going through. Elouise had summed it up in three eloquent southern words "bless his heart".
          I thought it was about time someone did bless his heart. And I was determined to do something about it. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this would be what you could affectionately call "mistake number one".
          This is the type of thing that could backfire, I knew. So, I gathered ideas from the other guys without letting them know I was gathering ideas from them. I'd stopped everyone and asked "if you were going to do something nice for one lonely person, what would you do?"
          Sean: "I dunno, dude. Like, talk to them, I guess. Try to be there for them and what not. Maybe take them skateboarding or something."
          Kris: "Find out what they're into. Guys who are lonely always have an obsession of some kind. Then get him a ticket to whatever convention celebrates his passion."
          Zack: "Get them a dog, maybe? I don't know."
          Of all the ideas that I got, Zack's seemed the most feasible. After all, getting a dog is as simple as going to the pound, right? Plus, Mitch is a werewolf, which technically means that he's part canine or lupine or whatever-ine down in there somewhere. This was a good idea, wasn't it? Just wait till Mitch goes to work, enter his trailer, drop off the dog with a note, and wait for him to come home to the surprise.
          Getting the dog from the pound was easy enough. But, I should have known there'd be a problem when the dog started whining as I brought him to the trailer. The dog was a larger dog, seemed to be some sort of German Sheppard mix. He paced back and forth in the back seat, and nearly bolted when I opened the door. But that's just nerves, right? The dog hadn't been in a home for a while, was probably kept outside for a bit. It didn't know what was coming, did it?
          I'd forgotten how sensitive a dog's nose really is. It smelled something other than human there. A large predator. One it didn't know or trust. When werewolves move through the forest, bears and wolves tend to stay quiet and out of their way. With good reason.
          That dog had smelled a large predators den and didn't want to be anywhere near it. Of course, I didn't know all of the signs of outright terror that poor dog was giving me. I just knew it was a pain in the ass to get it into the house. I'd left him the note, something that said "looks like you needed a friend" and left it at that. I didn't sign my name. That was the end of it, wasn't it?
          Yeah, right. Mitch had worked an extra long shift at the fast food place he worked at. He was now the assistant manager of the restaurant, so, when one of the high school kids they employ called out as sick to go to a concert or something instead, Mitch was stuck with the shift. Then he had all of his manager stuff on top of that. So, a fourteen hour day on his feet, and he comes home to...well...
          Terms like "cluster fuck" don't get used enough. Well, not used properly anyway. An abundance of problems mounted on top of each other, that fed into each other to create an ever worsening situation, which could all be summed up in a single word: dog.
          This poor animal was terrified. In it's terror, it had done what dogs do: it began marking out territory within the home. It peed on the carpet in the living room. On the small entertainment center he had. On the walls. On the couch. It grabbed cushions from said couch and began doing what dogs do to comfort themselves when they're overly stressed: it chewed through every single cushion. It dug holes in the bottom of it, so what was left of the cushions could sit on bare wire. Then it, of course, peed on the couch.
           When Mitch had arrived home, he found a dog, who'd bolted out the door the moment it was open, mountains of pee soaked carpeting and upholstery, and just about everything chewed on, clawed, or peed on in the living room. Sitting on the floor, in a pile of chewed up pillow stuffing and a pool of urine, was my note:
          "Dear Mitch,
          Looks like you could use a friend.
          Hope you enjoy!"
          The way you or I would have taken this turn of events is to assume someone was a jerk, or someone was an accidental jerk. That's me. Accidental jerk. However, Mitch saw it as something entirely else.
          What, I'd effectively done, since that trailer was Mitch's home and his territory, was left my mark on his things. My scent was on everything. The dog pee didn't cover every last bit of my scent, and it was very apparent, to Mitch at least, that I was attempting to make my mark on his territory. I was telling a lonely werewolf that I wanted to be part of his pack. What's more, the first that Crash had heard any of this was when Mitch asked him if he could take me as a member.
          It hurt Crash that I'd done that. But, I hadn't even known I'd done anything wrong. When he came home that morning from work, he wouldn't even look me in the eye. I attempted to ask him what was wrong several times, but couldn't get a direct answer from him. He drank his decaff coffee, put a shot of bourbon in it, finished it off, and then went to bed.
          When he got up that evening, I stopped him in the short hallway we had. "Look, I'm sorry," I told him. "Whatever it is. But, I got to plead ignorance on this."
          "I'm not ready to talk to you," he said, then left. Yeouch. Boss called me and told me not to come in for a couple days. Double Yeouch.
          I did the best I could under the circumstances. I waited until he came home. I presented him with a bottle of his favorite whiskey and sat him on the porch. "What did I do. Let me know, please. I'm flying blind."
          He opened the bottle, a brand of whiskey from Tennessee that's not well known out of the state. He sipped on it, then sipped again. Then explained the entire thing to me. "It was a slap in the face," Crash said. "I thought you were happy here."
          "I am," I told him. "I didn't know what I was doing when I did that. I wasn't even trying to prank him! I thought a dog is a good gift."
          "Jason, a dog has to be raised around a werewolf from a pup. Otherwise, it'll always be terrified of our kind."
          Oh. "So, essentially, I'd told him that I wasn't happy in your pack and wanted out?"
          Crash nodded. "Yeah. I knew what you were trying to do, but Mitch, he's so lonely right now, he didn't understand. In his heart, he was hoping you'd be part of his."
          It was a bit like waving a sandwich in front of a starving man. "How do I make this right," I asked.
          "You don't," Crash said. "I'll make this right. Next time you want to do something for Mitch, you talk to me, first. We werewolves don't have a lot of differences when it comes to etiquette. But you have managed to cross one of the biggest ones. Good job."
          So, yeah. My name is mud, right now. I've been keeping my head down, doing my stuff around the house, writing, that sort of thing. I stay in my room mostly, right now. At least until Crash calms down and whatever thing between him and Mitch gets settled. There's an old saying in the military: "It's better to ask for forgiveness than permission". In that case, it would have been better to ask for permission. Not doing that again. Well, not for a while. At least a month, I can go a month without making rash decisions without asking others for their input. I know I can make a month. Or at least finish this month out.
*Thought*  Comment
April 10, 2026 at 1:55pm
April 10, 2026 at 1:55pm
#1112963
         It sounded more like an air horn than actually blowing his nose. I knew it was more from my own pounding head than from Crash's volume. He'd been sick for a couple days. Some strain of Covid or something was my guess. Crash wouldn't go to the doctor. In his words "they couldn't do shit for me anyway."
         His face paler than I'd ever seen him. He hadn't bothered to shift into his werewolf form in a couple days either. "Oh God, is this what you go through when you're sick? This is horrible," he muttered with a stuffed up nose.
          "Yes, it is," I said. "Thanks for sharing." I blew my own nose, more to emphasize my point than out of necessity.
           He smiled at me. "What are friends for."
          We were standing in the kitchen. Crash had been sick for about two days. He got me sick at the same time, of course. Everyone was avoiding us as they probably should. Zack had said, and I quote, "You got Crash's super mutant virus."
          Makes sense. After all, if it can get a werewolf sick, it must be some sort of mean virus, right? It's not like a lot of things out there can get through a werewolf's tough immune system. Then again, Crash did have to deal with Garrett's super sludge or whatever that brown muck was. I think it weakened his immune system. Which then got him a Covid variant, which he politely shared with me. Lucky me.
          Of course, I had to get him back. Not that making me ill was on purpose, but what are friends for? He saw my prank when he opened the pantry. Inside, every shelf was stocked with chicken soup. Chicken soup concentrate. Cream of chicken soup. Chicken noodle. Chicken and dumbling. If it had chicken as an ingredient, I got it.
          He snarled at me and grumbled "very funny."
          I laughed. I always know when I get Crash very good cause his eyes do this thing, where one moment they're human and for a brief glimpse, they're not. Almost like the beast is trying to break out and take its revenge. I caught that and held up my hands in surrender. "What are friends for?"
          He moved all of the cans to grab a vegetable soup and made his way to the stove to heat it up. "Why do you hate chicken so much," I asked.
          Crash shrugged. "It came from my first hunt."
          "Oh no, sick dog. You got me ill, you got to spill. Tell me why you hate chicken."
          He snarled at the small pot as he dumped the soup into it. After grumbling under his breath about "eating nosy humans" he began to talk.
          "A werewolf's first hunt is a bit of a cultural rite of passage. When we can shift and control it, our families take us into the woods. Parents help us hunt. They'll show us how to stalk game, even injure animals so we can finish the kill. It's to help us build confidence and enjoyment in our second form. So we know it's a gift rather than seeing it as a curse."
          "Makes sense," I said. "Like a dad taking his kids hunting or fishing."
          "Yes," Crash said. "Exactly like that."
          He stirred his soup for a bit, not saying anything. I'd almost thought he was through and was going to start prodding him again when he continued. "I wanted to do everything myself. Even as a pup, I was fiercely independent. 'No help' I said. Demanded it even. Made them promise to not help. But I caught nothing. The first night, the next day, nothing."
          "Ouch. So, like you hunt now, huh?"
          Crash laughed. "More like how you fish. I've heard fish laugh at you."
          "Hey, I've caught fish before."
          "Yeah," Crash said. "And it was nearly eaten by your bait."
         I sipped on some coffee to hold back a mean comment. Crash continued. "Well, I was getting hungry. And desperate. I smelled game and stalked into the next farm. There was chicken. Lots of chicken. What's more, the birds weren't reacting to me. It was like they didn't care I was a werewolf! And they were big birds, standing almost to my knee. I got a few, killed them and bagged them, then brought them back to the campsite."
          "I get the impression that wasn't a good idea," I said.
          "Well," Crash replied, "in my defense I was only ten. Had never been hunting before and was first learning to navigate through the woods. I didn't know I stumbled onto the farm owned by the other werewolf family in the county."
          I smiled. "I get it they were pissed."
          Crash laughed. "Oh, Mr. Rodriguez got a kick out of it. Though, we still had to pay for the chicken. But every meal for the next month was chicken. Every. Single. Meal. Every way you can imagine having it. In soup, stew, baked, broiled. My mother had even figured out how to do a chicken pot cake. Something I never want to have ever again."
          He shook his head and shuddered. "And before each meal, was the same prayer. 'Lord, we thank you and our son for giving us this meal.'"
          I chuckled. Then coughed and spat phlegm into a tissue and threw it out. "Yeah, I'd be sick of chicken too."
          "So, now you know. And you realize, I will get you back."
          I smiled. "I spent almost fifty dollars on soup. I got myself back with this one."
          He gave me a grin afterwards that made me feel unsettled a bit. "No," I said. "Not the feathers in the bed again. Don't you dare!"
          Crash just laughed and shook his head as I left the kitchen.
          At least I knew why he didn't like chicken. Come to think of it, I'd never seen him eat much turkey or any other bird either. Maybe it's for the same reason. Maybe it's for a different one. Maybe I'm reading too much into it. Like I've ever done that before.
*Thought*  Comment
March 23, 2026 at 11:02am
March 23, 2026 at 11:02am
#1111326
         Garrett had trapped us. I was on the floor of his greenhouse looking up into his annoyingly smug victorious gator muzzle. Elouise was being untied to move, but her hands would soon be bound again. It seemed as if most of the fight had been beaten out of her. Tarragon was standing above me, looking as if he was ready to breathe fire. He's told me dragons can't literally do that, but in that moment, I wouldn't have been surprised if he did. We were hauled outside and forced marched out of the front door of the greenhouse. We trailed along in a line across the over grown driveway, towards the back of the house run down two story house.
         Nothing in my life had ever gone easy. Why should my death be any different? If they're going to execute me, they're going to carry me. I'd decided my legs no longer worked and just collapsed down to the ground.
         "Get your ass up," Garrett snarled, grabbing my collar.
         Tarragon growled a threat too vicious to print, and was struck in the side of his muzzle with a pistol by one of the fake twins for his trouble. He winced as if they'd hit an extra-sensitive spot, and staggered, blood welling up in a spot on his blue scales.
         "You know what, no," I said. I got backhanded hard enough to knock me back into the dirt. My head was spinning. But, for some reason, I'd started to laugh.
         "Son, you're about to take a dirt nap in a tarp and lye, you're over here laughing your ass off?" Garrett shook his head. "I've seen begging, I've seen threatening. Hell, I've even had folks try to stare me down as if they could intimidate me out of being killed. You're the first one to find it funny."
         "Yeah," I said. "But, I got a secret..."
         The laughter had tapered down. I waved him down to get closer. When he did I said in a singsong voice, "We got your tail."
         That earned me a kick to the gut which knocked more than the wind out of me. I was prepared for it, flexing and he still hit me all the way to my backbone. I lifted a couple of feet up in the air and slid across the dirt, gasping. Still, the look of frustration on his face was funny to me, so between gasps, gags, and and wincing, I was still grinning and laughing.
         "You're the only son of a bitch that I know who can take the fun out of murder," Garrett said.
         It took me a minute to hear Tarragon snarling, and growling. He was thrashing, trying to break free. Elouise was attempting to do the same. Neither was very successful. I struggled to get one foot beneath me, then the other. I took two gasps. There was no plan, no preparation. Tarragon's massive plan, to have every excuse for the local police to step onto the property had failed. It was left up to blind will, to create a situation that we'd hopefully be able to take advantage of. To struggle until I was snuffed out, to not go down melting and withering like a forgotten candle. I hadn't seen the two new people step around the corner. I did hear the gunshot and look up, expecting to see Tarragon or Elouise dropping to the ground.
         Marissa collapsed in the grass a few feet from me, spasming. Half her head was missing, blood was dumping out of the holes. It wasn't healing. There wasn't time to be dumbfounded. It was time to act.
         Garrett reached for the first victim he could. me. I exploded upwards into his chest as hard as I could. Garrett stumbled backwards and crashed into the side of the moldy, forgotten house with a surprised look on his muzzle. I'd gotten lucky. It wasn't going to last very long.
          Thick scaled arms wrapped around me. He snarled, holding me tight. "I'll rip his throat out you, sum bitches. He'll die bleeding like a stuck pig."
          It was a tight grip. I couldn't breathe. My arms were by my side, and my feet dangled off the ground, I felt like a rag doll. I drove my knee as hard as I could into him. It was blind luck that I hit his groin. He gave a small oof then dropped me slightly to the ground for less than a fraction of a second.
         Tarragon threw me backwards and dove into Garrett. It looked like a martial arts fight between Jackie Chan and Rocky, only sped up to about 300x speed. Limbs were flying. Kicks. Punches. He struck Garrett with his tail a couple of times. The fight moved from the side of the house to the back yard.
         Elouise didn't waste the opportunity. Tarissa had attempted to grab Elouise and use her as a human shield. Elouise shoved into her with her shoulder. Tarissa stumbled back a step, a surprised look on her face as Elouise stepped back. Tarissa brought her gun up to Elouise's face, I think more out of reflex than anything. She was running on pure instinct at that second. She needed a shield and Elouise was going to fit the bill just fine.
          There was a second gunshot. Blood from Tarissa's neck sprayed over Elouise's face as Tarissa collapsed to the ground, gargling, clawing at her throat. Andy stepped over her and pointed the pistol down at her prone body. Crash was behind him, wearing a gas mask of some kind with a talk box on it.
         "Sorry we're late, took us a minute to find the silver in your bedroom," Crash said.
         I nodded at Andy, then at Crash. "I didn't think you guys were coming."
          Crash chuckled. It sounded like a robot that had the hiccups. "You thought we'd just leave you to die? You still owe me ten bucks."
         Tarragon and Garrett's fight was just about over. We just followed the trail of blood through the rotted gate of the rotten fence, through the overgrown back lawn, around the mound of dirt, to where Tarragon had Garrett pinned. Apparently Garrett, Marissa and Tarissa had dug a hole deep enough to bury three bodies. There was a large tarp sitting over the mound of dirt, with fertilizer and lye sitting next to it. Had he gotten his way, no one would have found us.
         There wasn't much of Garrett left. His muzzle was bleeding, one eye had been nearly knocked from it's socket. It bulged in a crazy manner, bluish and red. He breathed in wet, ragged gasps. Crash and I pulled Tarragon off of him. He stepped back, and snarled down at Garrett, but didn't say anything. His thick blue tail was swaying like an angry cat. Tarrogon's fists were shaking. Whether from rage or pain of over use, I couldn't tell.
         I knelt down next to Garrett and asked, "Is there anything you'd like to say before judgment is carried out?"
         "Yeah," he said. "I want a lawyer."
         "Now look who's laughing at the end," I said.
         Crash nodded to Andy. "We'll take it from here. You really shouldn't..."
         "No! The cop stays! I want him to see this. To know." Garrett said. He gasped then for a moment, it sounded more wet as he did so. There was fluid in his lungs.
         I looked at Crash. "Waiting on your call, boss."
         "I won't interfere," Andy said. "It's not like I can put a creature like that in lockup and he be safe for anyone."
         I nodded to Crash and held my hand out for a gun. "You do the words, I'll do the deed."
         "You lost," Garrett said.
         We all looked down at him.
         "You heard me." He gasped and winced in pain. "Son of a bitch, that hurts." Taking a few moments, and a few more deep breaths, he then said, "sold some of my special brew already. Plus I'd shown it off to two others, who took reams and reams of notes. Like they thought there was a test later. I just let them do it. We didn't care. Wasn't for the money.." he stopped, then took a breath, wincing in pain. "Your piss ant town was the test bed. Worked like a charm, too. We got the attention of some really big fish. Soon, there's going to be a wave." He laughed. "First this state, then the nation. Then it'll spread worldwide like wildfire. You're done for, you mangy bastards. All of you. We're going to be your new kings, you bald apes."
         Crash handed me a pistol. Garrett's laughter was cut short with a single shot. I passed the pistol back up to Crash.
         "This part you truly cannot be here for," he said. "Jason, you know what to do."
         I grumbled, "paperwork, I know."
         I stood and clapped Andy on the shoulder. "Come on, they do this entire thing in a special manner. It's almost like a ceremony type of thing for their kind."
         "I'll never get used to this," Andy said.
         I patted Andy on the shoulder. "Come on, you can drive me to the office. I'll answer any questions you have on the way."
         He nodded. "Yeah, I'll have some questions, alright. You do this sort of thing often?"
         "No. But, yeah, more than the average office," I admitted.
         "So, no trial," Andy asked.
         We had walked up the drive at this point and was standing outside of his police cruiser. I walked over to the passenger side, mulling over his question. "No point," I said. "Crash can narrow down his actions to the half hour by scent alone. He can get it closer than that in most cases. Besides, he knows the penalty of doing his job wrong."
         Andy gave me a look. I shrugged. "After all, you said it. It's not like he can be arrested."
         We climbed into the car. He didn't have any other questions after that. Though, he did drop me off. It was back to what I was used to doing in the office, more paperwork. Tar stuck around though, thankfully. Afterwards, we had a nice dinner, got to talk about old times. He drank whiskey, and I managed to only drink soda. Partially at his insistence, that I don't drink "don't want it to be too much like old times," he said. Yeah, I guess I can be a jerk of a drunk.
         Still, it was on my mind, and probably will be for a while. Garrett had set the entire thing up, had concocted this entire operation. Not for money, not for power. For revenge. On us. On Crash and Elouise and myself. He couldn't admit, not even in his darkest moments of any wrongdoing on his own part. It had to be all us. He was willing to destroy everyone for that.
         I don't know what's coming. But, having seen some of the things I'd seen prior and done some of the things I'd done, having been in some of the areas of the planet I've been in, I know how bad it can get. And that, is what is keeping me up at nights now.
         Not what will happen, but how bad will it be? How can I protect my pack from the worst of the rising storm?
*Thought*  Comment
March 13, 2026 at 10:52am
March 13, 2026 at 10:52am
#1110559
         I've always known him as Tarragon. It was his call sign in the military and his nickname. Well, either that or Tar. Occasionally, I'd tease him and just call him 'spicy' for fun. That was partly out of stupidity on my part, believing Tarragon was in reference to the spice I once I saw in Wal-Mart down the baking isle. Never occured to me that it could be in reference to something else. Not until I saw his familiar Mitsubishi Lancer pull up and a dragon stepped out of the drivers seat instead of my friend.
          I'd never seen a dragon before. Apparently, they are more known in Asia. Which made sense, Tarragon's family was originally from the Philippines. His father was in the military, and his mother was a server at a restaurant just off base. Very long and complicated story short, his father sweet talked her family into marriage. The rest is history, Tarragon's family history that is, so I won't go into it here.
          Tar had blue scales, walked on two legs, and still stood his standard five foot eight, including the short horns on his head. Golden scales made up the 'underbelly' portion from his chin down his groin. Tar was wearing the familiar Hawaiian shirt and kahki shorts when he stepped out of the vehicle, and of course, blasting an old Sublime song. Tarragon was forever trapped in 1998, and wasn't about to move on anytime soon.
          The grin on his muzzle cracked wide when he saw me. And from the look in my eye, he laughed his ass off and hugged me tight. "Finally, you can actually see me! Damn, I've been trying to give you hints for ages."
          I nodded and hugged him back, then tried to break it, quickly feeling awkward about it. "Yeah, yeah. I see you. So, dragon?"
           He clapped me hard on the shoulder, short white claws stinging a little as he did. "You're damn right. Best and most sexiest species on the planet!" Same old Tar. The mischievous grin, the boastful comments.
          "Isn't that racist? or speciest? Or...." I started, trying to figure it out where exactly that comment landed. Tar laughed harder and lead me towards the house. "Hey, we dragons gotta represent, you know? We're out numbered by stinky werewolves and those rotting vampires."
           "Rotting?" That was a first.
           Tar nodded. "Yeah, they smell like a day old corpse to me."
          To be honest, I hadn't noticed. Crash had said vampires stink, but that was just Crash's disposition. To him, anything non-werewolf stinks in its own way, and he loves every stinking moment of it as any good werewolf would, I suppose. Of course, it was a bit more difficult to take his statement to heart when Tarragon began smiling after it, and giving his trademark laughter.
           "Come on," I grumbled, leading him into the house. "We got a knot to untangle with this one, my friend."
           The problem was discussed over a cup of coffee. Zack, Kris and Shawn had all agreed to stay out of it, saying "this is definitely your area." But they were gracious enough to help in small ways, brewing the coffee, and conveniently all three getting donuts at once so Tar and I could talk and battle plan. I think they were more afraid of being caught up in another one of my crazy schemes, something that I don't really blame them for being scared of considering several of my previous plans.
           After going through everything, Tarragon nodded. "I can see why you called," he said. "Though, I wish you'd have called sooner."
          The comment stung a bit, and I tried to hide it by looking away. He was right, of course. I should have called. Should have talked, kept in touch with a thousand text messages and E-mails. Instead, I'd literally cut that part of my life off when I left. It was as if I'd stepped through the door, slammed the shut on my past and never thought to look back at it again for fear of awakening something. Just like I'd done when I entered the military.
          "When you don't know what to say, it's easier to not say anything," I said. It wasn't an apology, but more of a shitty explanation. Like explaining to Grandma why you stopped calling so much, or visiting her in the home. Or explaining to your family, friends, relatives why you don't visit as often as you used to. In the end, it's just far easier to leave things on the positive note instead of staring at everyone with that awkward look and trying to create small talk.
           "Yeah, well, I suppose I could have kept in contact, too," he said. I could only answer his comment with a nod.
          "So, what's the game plan," he asked.
          "Good news," I said. "We have the entire police department at our disposal."
          "Bad news?"
          "They have no legal recourse to enter the property. And since the perpetrators are rougarou and not part of the human species, they can't exactly type up a search warrant and march in."
           Tarragon nodded. "Makes sense, you don't want that sort of thing in public record. 'You stand accused of poisoning mythical creatures, how do you plead?'" He said it in a thin, mocking voice and laughed. "That'd be one for Court TV."
         "Hell, that'd be one for Jerry Springer," I said.
          "So, we got recourse to enter the property?"
          "Hell yeah! I'm the only functioning member of the department right now. I could temporarily make you a deputy and you could even doll out the punishments if you like."
          Tarragon grinned. "I've always wanted to be a cop."
          I'm going to start this off by saying, yes, there was a plan. A plan that was very chaotic. There was multiple working parts and quite insane in its execution. In other words, it was a Tarragon style plan. My take on plans had always been "the simpler, the better." A simple plan is easy to adjust on the fly. Keep the goal in mind, take advantage of new events, blow through new obstacles, and soon it's mission accomplished.
          Tarragon's plans were more like large hyper cars. Lots of expensive working parts that, when they worked right were quite beautiful. But when they didn't, which was more often than not, they had a spectacular way of falling apart.
          Our part of the plan was simple: we storm the castle. Which meant I grabbed my pistol, as much silver as I could carry. Tarragon made jokes about the 'food arming itself', but made sure to show that he too was carrying silver and a Glock. Which of course, he was. Tarragon could joke, but he still listened to the same music, still had the same Rally race inspired Mitsubishi, still insisted on driving, and still had the same taste in weapons. Tarragon hadn't changed, and neither had I. The only difference between my life in the service and my life right then was sobriety.
          There wasn't a single part of his plan I liked, honestly. But, I had no better ideas, so I just kept my mouth shut and followed him towards the property. Too many moving pieces. Too much reliance on if. If this occurs, and if everyone is paying attention, and if the signals go out on time, and if, if, if. If is the destruction of plans. If is the destroyer of dreams.
          Garret owned a 15 acre stretch of property at the edge of the county. Tall trees grew up and over the drive and bent their way towards the highway. Thick bushes pushed outward between the trees, a trait of old forests, and one of comfort to Tarragon. "Finally, some proper cover," he said as he parked his car next to the property. He pushed inward into the the tree line next to the driveway, deliberately parking the car in front of the trail camera.
          In hindsight, perhaps it was foolish to kick the hornets nest like that. But, we had wanted to instill that sense of fear into them. Wanted them to see Tarragon move into the trees, me press in behind him, and to witness us disappear. He wasn't wearing the loud Hawaiian shirt and khakis. It was a simple pair of green shorts and nothing else. And his shiny blue scales seemed to disappear into the underbrush as we moved through.
          We moved as silently as possible, keeping just out of sight of the driveway. Slipping between tree and shrub, with our pistols drawn. It was entirely too quiet, something that I did not like. I was at the low ready following closely behind Tarragon like I had done so often in my previous job. It felt normal and yet so strange. We had pistols, not M-16s. And there would be no call for air support, no nine lines, no way to get help if either of us ended up hurt or killed.
          We parted through the trees and stepped onto a well manicured lawn. The back of a large greenhouse was in front of us, it's windows beaded with condensation. Something was being kept alive in there. Something that required a lot of moisture and heat. We moved forward, weapons low and at the ready. Tarragon looked back at me. I nodded.
          It was like clockwork. I kicked in the door, it slammed open, glass in the door breaking. He stepped through while I guarded. I followed him inside, checking the opposite side of the strange room and it's strange...algae?
          It was algae. Red, green, and blue in various pools. Along one side of the pools was a type of plant that I didn't know the name of, but had stocks that reminded me of corn dogs. There was a type of vine in there as well, a vine that the leaves ripped off in several spots, as if someone had been harvesting them.
          It had to be the ingredients used in their nastiness. The smell was similar in the greenhouse, just not as potent. When I rounded the corner, I found out why. Whatever they were making, they had a home made beer brewing kit set up. At least, that's what it looked like to me, with the plastic tubes and the five gallon bucket, the water jug full of what I can only call 'algae juice'. The sludge in the bucket wasn't quite the disgusting tar brown color yet. But it was getting there.
          Elouise's voice cut right through me. "You shouldn't have come."
          "I wish I'd come sooner," I told her.
         She survived an ass kicking, that's for certain. One eye blackened, several of her fingers looked broken. And from the way she was breathing, I was certain one of those ribs was doing more floating than hanging on. She had been tied to one of the center supports. Sure, her strength could tear the pole down, but the entire glass greenhouse would come down around her. No one, not even a rougarou, could survive that.
          "They saw you come in, I know they did. You two have got to get out of here before..."
          "Before what." Garret interrupted.
         Tarragon snarled at the door we'd come through. "Fucking gator bastard."
          "That is a nice fast car out there. Can't wait to see what that tiny tin can will do." Garret was in full gator form. Beside him was Marissa and Tarissa, who weren't. They were holding pistols on us both.
          "Of course, we had to get it gone already. If'n I guessed, you done called the police, was going to have them swoop to y'alls rescue, weren't ya?" Garret winked at Tarragon. "Nice plan, but a bit on the nose."
          The grin on Garret's snout twisted sinister as he looked at me. "And you don't have your werewolf boyfriend to rescue you."
          "I see you brought the sisters along. Nice of you to keep it within the family," I said. Okay, as far as insults go, it was a weak one, I'll admit. From the look on his face, my insult had the opposite effect on him. So, I gave him as twisted of a smile as I could muster and then asked, "How's the tail? Still gone?"
          He took a single step forward, jabbing his clawed finger at me. "You're going to find out just how that feels!"
          Tar stepped in front of me. "You'll lose any digit you touch him with."
          Garret laughed, walked forward and backhanded me hard enough to knock me to the ground. Tar tried to jump in, but a single bullet fired next to his foot made him stop. "Yes, that's silver," Garret said, then grinned. "And when we're done, you'll be begging to eat one of those bullets."
          The plan had barely started and it was already collapsing in on itself. Without Tarragon's vehicle outside the road, the local police would have no reason to enter. There'd be no reason for Andy to come to the rescue. There'd be, well, nothing. Nothing except for three future missing persons reports. It was going to take a miracle to save us. As I looked up at Garret's grinning gator snout, and his fake sisters own sinister grins, I began to pray for one.
*Thought*  Comment
February 27, 2026 at 11:11am
February 27, 2026 at 11:11am
#1109372
         It took a lot to get the mythicals out of the county. There was one death from the stench, someone's home had been bombed especially bad. It was an elderly woman who was also a werewolf. They never hurt anyone, kept to themselves and didn't ever become involved in anything. Essentially, she and her husband were completely innocent. I doubt of Garret and his merry band of fancy luggage had ever even laid eyes on her.
          The cover story was some sort of gas leak. The town would probably use the cover as an excuse to begin replacing water pipes. But for then, it was just a misfit group of refugees sitting in another county's hotel while the emergency crews went through it and began the difficult process of clean up. Which meant that most of us could only sit by and watch while the police attempted to handle the issues with the rougarou. That went about as well as you'd imagine.
          The rougarou didn't bother fighting back. They'd just laugh, then run. The cops would give chase, sirens screaming and radios shouting to coordinate efforts to corner them on a town street somewhere or in a public place. But no matter what they did, they couldn't seem to catch Garret and his minions. They'd cut through the woods at speeds that the police had trouble keeping up with. The lawyer that Garret seemed to have found, some hotshot from a much larger city, had effectively handcuffed them from doing anything on the property itself. No warrants could be issued because the chemical concoction wasn't a controlled substance. The most they could be charged with, he argued, was littering. Littering wasn't an offense that warranted a search warrant.
          I had attempted to argue with the boss that they had effectively poisoned the population. The way he explained it to me was that there was no way they could make such a claim. It was true that the mythical population, or as he called it, the 'non-human community' had been poisoned. Trouble was, court records could be searched by almost anyone. So, they couldn't legally claim that the chemical concoction was designed to poison even "certain residents", out of danger of someone searching for it later. It made sense. After all, the people who destroyed the twin towers in 9-11 had gotten the idea from listening to the court cases of the original trade center bombers back in the nineties. Dangerous ideas can come from court cases and it's best to not to put certain things on the books. It was why officers of his office had such broad scope of powers. Court, literally, couldn't hold certain people.
          It made sense, but it had backed everyone into a corner. We were seated at a Holiday Inn eating rubbery eggs and microwaved bacon. The kind of bacon that comes precooked and gets shoved into a steam tray for hours on end. The lobby area they had set aside of their continental breakfast had several images of local buildings blown up and drawn abstractedly over vibrant colors. A corporate imitation of Andy Worhol used as decoration for a generic hotel.
          I'd stared at that image of what must have been a court house from a hundred years ago, but had come to amount to little more than literal pale imitations of sketches on a wall. Garret was working at something. He'd effectively pushed every mythical out of the county that wasn't a rougarou. He'd gone to a lot of trouble to make sure it happened in a certain way. And the regular cops weren't able to get on his property at all. As if he was hiding something there.
          "Boss, I'm going to need to call in help."
          He gave me a gruff laugh. The color had returned to the large man's face, but he was still weak. Most of the mythical population hadn't shifted into their other forms since being poisioned. Crash was the only one who managed it, and that had been mostly because he was in werewolf mode when he got poisoned. The boss just shook his head.
          "No. You're staying here until this gets dealt with. Once the county is clean we will go through and..."
         "Get poisoned again," I said. The interruption made him grit his teeth and I was about to get my ass chewed. So, I kept going. "Here me out. My previous occupation gave me connection with a few individuals who will have fun with this sort of thing. Whatever is going on is on that property. I'm able to go and check it being a full member of the office.
          "You're a part-time paper pusher who is currently pushing his damn boundaries."
         I shrugged. "It wouldn't be the first time I pushed into places nobody wanted me to go. Remember, that used to be my damn job in another lifetime."
         I could hear him grit his teeth. He knew I was right. But to look on his face said how much he hated that how right I was. It was the look of a man who was preparing to mourn. I just smiled at him. "Hey, I promise he won't destroy half the damn county."
         "What does Crash say?"
         I gave a noncommittal shrug. "He's catching up on modern daytime television. You know there appears to be more court shows than regular daytime dramas and reality shows these days? It's like you gotta pass the bar if you want to be a TV star."
         "When this is over, you're never getting out of the office. You hear me? A year of paperwork. A decade of paperwork. You'll be filling out every form for everyone in the damn office until you die. Then I'll find a necromancer to drag your corpse from the grave to do more paperwork."
         Luck. It should be pushed sometimes. I pushed mine when I gave bossman a confident smirk and said "Aww. I didn't know you cared."
         You know, mythicals can move pretty fast, even when poisoned? And that slap to the back of my head hurt! I honestly felt some claws in it. Rubbing my head, as I made my way to my car, I pulled out my phone and began to type a text message to someone that I hadn't expected I'd ever text ever again.
         Thing is, it wasn't as if I wanted to cut half the people in my life out. It was more of a closing of a chapter. I didn't keep up with certain names and individuals in my life because that chapter was done. My life had migrated to a brand new location. Heart, mind and soul needed to concentrate on the present day, and that's difficult for a person like me to do so when one foot keeps drifting back to the past. Either that, or it's an excuse to not face what I'd lost. You know, either or.
         Still, I'd taken a deep breath and texted a number that I didn't think I'd ever text again. He had saved my ass more times than I could count in another time and place. I'd saved him just as much, and though the "score", if you could ever call it a score, was even between us. Still, he'd always told me he owed me. Part of me was hoping and praying he'd still think so when he heard what I had to tell him. It was our last chance to stop Garret at whatever the hell he was doing.
*Thought*  Comment


© Copyright 2026 Louis Williams (UN: lu-man at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Louis Williams has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.