Jestin Kase and the Masters of Dragon Metal (Book One)

01- Alley Cat

Apparently, the cops didn't like it when you burned down your foster home. Who knew?

Police lights flashed across the dark streets as Jestin ran through the back alleys of Chicago. He pumped his legs as fast as he could, hopping over fences, dashing up and down fire escapes, and cutting across rooftops. His legs burned with fatigue, and his chest ached as his heart pounded.

Christ, I need to get back into shape.

No matter how fast he ran, the police sirens followed. He could hear at least three cars. Maybe four.

"You've got to be freaking kidding me," he muttered, out of breath. Understaffed and underpaid, the cops rarely showed this level of persistence when they needed to give chase. They typically responded in an hour or two, if at all, and never followed Jestin's trail for longer than a few minutes. Granted, he'd never burnt down a house before...at least not an entire house.

Wearing down, Jestin ducked into a tight alley and collapsed in between a dumpster and cluster of garbage cans. He leaned against the brick wall and breathed deeply, his pulse pounding so hard he could feel it in his neck.

Gradually, the siren sounds moved farther and farther away.

"OK..." he whispered in between breaths. "OK...No more arson. Arson bad. Got it."

His voice startled something. He heard a clang; a black cat hissed, bolted from a garbage can, and landed on the dumpster. The feline arched his back, raising his short hair and poofing his tail. He glared, more afraid than angry, trying to look tough...and failing. The cat had one of those cute teddy-bear faces-- hard to find that frightening.

Jestin sighed at the cat's sad attempt to frighten him. "That's an impressive, bushy tail you have there. I'm very intimidated." The cat breathed another hiss. Jestin nodded. "Yes, yes. You're very fearsome. But I need to crash here for a sec. OK?"

Jestin curled up on the ground and crossed his arms over his chest, scrunching his black winter jacket, worn over a gray hoodie. Sweat dripped down his forehead, chilling in the winter air and wetting the bangs of his shaggy brown hair. He shuffled his legs, trying to get comfortable; cold air seeped into the rips and tears in his faded jeans and worn sneakers-- his big toe slipped through a hole in his right shoe.

Slowly, Jestin glanced up at the cat, its golden-brown eyes staring from a face as frightening as a child's stuffed animal. Hair bristled down the black cat's spine.

"Oh, calm down. I'm Jestin, by the way. Fifteen. Orphan on the run. I don't suppose you have a name?"

The cat rumbled a soft growl.

"Growly McHissy-Face? Nice to meet you."

Another quick hiss.

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."

The cat walked slowly in a circle, hopped onto the pavement, and stared at Jestin, staying crouched and ready to pounce if needed. Then his tail lowered, still cautious, but not aggressive.

"See...we're fine," Jestin said. "Well...at least you're fine. I'm royally screwed."

Jestin told Growly McHissy-Face his story, because why not?

Jestin spent the last three weeks living in the basement of a foster home, where kids crammed together in bunkbeds and sleeping bags. Their foster father cared little for them. As part of the system's private sector, the man got paid per-kid. So instead of children, he saw dollar signs, and treated his charges no better than farmers treated livestock.

"I didn't like the guy. So I burned his house down," Jestin said. "Totally logical."

The cat tilted his head. He looked inquisitive instead of afraid, but still kept all fours beneath his body so he could spring away if needed. Something about Jestin's voice seemed to calm the feline, so the boy kept talking.