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Adventures In Living With The Mythical |
| 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. |
un: 
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