Free Battle Scars by Sheryl Nantus

day-to-day existence dependent on what I pulled out of the garbage cans or scrounged from strangers. When I’d been sent away from the Pride I’d been cut off from all family help, left to survive on my own. If I hadn’t landed on my feet in the foster care system and later on clawed out a place for myself in the human world, I could have ended up like Red.
    I wasn’t sure I’d be as cheerful as the elderly Felis.
    It was just after nine o’clock; my encounter with Red had taken up more time than I’d realized. There were still alleys to be searched and I moved back toward the center of the city, choosing my steps carefully in the darkness.
    Two hours later I was tired and more than a little grumpy. The small packs I’d run into hadn’t been much help, either denying all knowledge of any other runaways or splintering into a dozen pairs of running feet, heading away from the bounty hunter looking for their kin.
    I couldn’t blame them for being suspicious. Anyone representing authority posed a threat to their ecosystem and I definitely was that, wanting to pull two of their own away. Even offering money didn’t get me much more than vague references to different parks and shelters where I might trip over the kids. After a few more hours of staggering around green spots masquerading as parks and almost getting run over by more than a few delivery trucks in back alleys making late night/early morning deliveries I was ready to call it quits for one night.
    I dialed Bran’s number. He answered on the third ring.
    “I’m headed home. What’s up with you?”
    There was a lot of chatter in the background—guitar, drums, maybe a flute or two and a chorus of voices rising and falling in intensity.
    “I’m out here at the Point. Kids say they may or may not have seen the boy traveling alone,” Bran shouted.
    “Think he dumped her already?” I leaned against a light pole, pressing the cool metal against my spine. It’d turned into a warm summer evening and I was in desperate need of a hot shower and a cold drink.
    “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m going to hang out for a few more hours until they all crash in case Evan or Lisa show up.”
    Someone shouted, the phone picking up her garbled giggle.
    I recognized it as Angie’s.
    The little bitch had either followed Bran or tracked him down. Either way she was with him and I was not.
    You’ll notice, a little hysterical voice in my ear buzzed, that he’s not mentioning her to you. He’s keeping a secret from you.
    I kept speaking, using the energy to force my blood pressure down. “Kind of a gamble.” I lifted my hand to flag down a taxi. “No luck on my side. I’m headed home for a rest before going back out tomorrow.” I chose my words carefully, hoping he’d pick up on what I was putting down. “Going to take a shower and get a bite to eat. Be nice to have some company.”
    “Okay. I’ll catch you there later.” Bran cut me off just as Angie’s laugh got louder.
    Obviously our mental telepathy needed some work.
    The cab ride home was quiet, with the driver more focused on the classical music coming out of his radio than chattering to me. Which was good because I didn’t feel like talking and/or listening to anyone.
    * * *
    Jazz trilled at me as I stepped out of the shower, a ghost in the middle of the steam filling the room.
    I hoped I’d used up all the hot water.
    She wound between my legs as I pulled on a nightshirt and crawled into bed. The stained bedspread was in the far corner, waiting to be washed.
    I studied the clock. 3:32 A.M.
    I wasn’t impressed.
    Jazz jumped up on the bed and curled into a fat white ball on Bran’s pillow with a growly purr. She reached out and grabbed my hand, latching on with her claws. A tug had my fingers tucked under her paws where she licked my skin, still purring.
    Cats give the best therapy.
    I stroked her soft fur with my free hand and turned out the light.

Chapter Four
    I woke up with a start, my mind