The Mephit's Tales

My first foray into what one might call serious biology happened when I was eight. Botany, to be exact.

Springtime was always a big thing for my dad. Not just because the snow was gone, which was news that any red-blooded child knew ought to be met with horror and dismay. But that was when he got the garden ready for planting and tidied up the beds of things that stayed in the ground year-round or, in the case of the dill, inevitably came back whether he wanted them to or not so he might as well cultivate them properly. Watching him till the soil and put the seeds in their neat little rows had passed a few springtime evenings for me already. That year, though, I’d asked if I could have my own garden.

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I’m sure my mom was upset by how often I wound up in the ER. It wasn’t that often, but I was an active kid, so it did happen. Besides, I’m sure once was more than enough for her.

On the other hand, sometimes I think she must’ve had the patience of a saint not to put me there herself.

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It wasn’t all that comfortable. It wasn’t even all that discreet – if anyone saw them there in the garage, and especially on the bed of Mom’s truck, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out they were up to something. But it was away from prying eyes, and specifically the prying eyes of Blake’s little sister.

“You’re sure about this, stripey?” The rat gave the edge of Mom’s emergency blanket a twitch, spreading it out a little better.

“It’s okay, Flynn. I’m not twelve.” Blake smiled, reaching out to touch the other youth’s jaw. “I haven’t done it before, sure, but I know what it is.”

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