Jestin Kase and the Terrors of Shadow Metal

By J. Michael White

Dive into the second adventure of the critically acclaimed YA Urban Fantasy series: Dragon Metal!

What happens when you give a group of kids the power to fight the ultimate evil? Trauma.

Now abl

• Language: English
• Publisher: Teer Publishing
• Release date: May 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798985221336

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Big Dumb River

Jestin doggy-paddled like his life depended on it.

He swam through the middle of the Chicago River at night. He couldn’t decide what terrified him more, the monster that chased him or the fecal-infested water that splashed into his nose and mouth.

The fecal water, the fifteen-year-old decided, sickened by the sewer-like stench that soaked his jeans and hoodie, coating his skin with an oily filth that reminded him of the showers in juvenile detention. Definitely the fecal water.

He didn’t exactly care for his pursuer either: Kulullû, one of the Eleven Beasts of Tiamat. Jestin might have found the name funny if not for the monster’s appearance—like a demonic merman covered with black, slimy scales, and eyes that glowed a sickly yellow in the darkness of the water.

Okay, you can take him, Jestin tried to convince himself. You just need to flush him down a really, really big toilet.

Suddenly, a giant wave rolled through the river and swallowed Jestin whole, forcing him underwater and pushing him downward. The pressure nearly crushed his ribs.

Jestin placed his hand over the left side of his chest, focused on the medallion he wore beneath his shirt, stamped onto his skin: the Dragon Medal of the Sun, one of twelve medallions forged with a mysterious, magical substance called Dragon Metal—a Mettle Metal Medal, Jestin jokingly called it, causing eye rolls every time.

The force of the water smashed Jestin onto the bottom of the river and pinned him there. His Metal did its best to protect him, forming scales of golden energy beneath his skin, visible at the temples, down the sides of his neck, and along his arms. His irises glowed with the same golden power, lighting the murky black of the dark river.

He could barely see. Panic flooded his veins. But he had a familiar relationship with panic at this point in his life.

Panic? I laugh at panic. His lungs ached to breathe, and his chest burned for air. Okay, never mind, not laughing, get me the hell out of here!

Kulullû shot through the river like a torpedo and slammed against Jestin with a shock wave that rippled the water. Jestin’s Metal protected him from most of the impact; the monster opened its mouth wide, filled with needlelike teeth.

Son of a freaking mother! Jestin felt the flow of liquid Metal in his veins, grabbed hold of it, and used it to form a blade that slid from his palm; he didn’t think he’d ever get used to that feeling of ripping a sword from his hand, like pulling out a bone but without the agonizing pain. The blade’s runes glowed with golden power that cast traces of light across the demon merman.

Jestin stabbed the creature’s side. The monster gave a bubbling yell that leaked black blood, which washed over Jestin’s face. Because of course it did. I’m soaking my entire body in sanitizer when this is over.

His chest started to spasm. He needed oxygen. News flash, humans need oxygen to live, breaking news tonight at—dammit, mind, stop freaking out!

Jestin gritted his teeth, told his frantic mind to shut up and focus, and pushed off from the bottom of the river. He kicked as hard as he could and flapped his arms, chest aching, lungs burning, desperate to breathe in, let go.

The wounded Kulullû grabbed hold of him. Jestin rolled his eyes and grumbled, leaking air bubbles. His lungs spasmed. More air bubbles. Had he dropped his sword? He had. When did that happen?

He tried to form another blade of Dragon Metal, but his chest hurt too much to focus with the precision needed to craft a weapon. So he did the next best thing.

Jestin swung his hands downward and sparked a pulse of golden energy that let him shoot upward. The blast exhausted him, and between that and the lack of oxygen, he almost passed out.

But he broke through the surface of the water just in time; breathed in.

Sweet air! he shouted. The air stank, actually, but he welcomed it anyway. I love you air!

Kulullû grabbed Jestin’s leg and pulled him back under the water.

Oh, come on! Jestin acted without thinking, grabbed the monster by the head, and triggered bursts of golden energy, superheated plasma, tearing through the monster’s skull. But the creature survived somehow, bit Jestin’s arm; the creature’s teeth scraped harmlessly against Jestin’s scales of power.

The opponents twisted around each other. Jestin had trained in grappling, judo and close-combat fighting techniques for the past few months—but he didn’t use any of that. He just reacted, pushing and pulling, swinging his knees and elbows, wearing himself out.

He could use the power of Dragon Metal now, true. But that didn’t automatically make him a badass superhero. How have I not gotten myself killed yet?

A massive splash came from the water above him, and a four-legged beast swam toward him like a spear through the river.

Oh yeah, Jestin thought to himself. That’s probably how.

The four-legged beast—a black panther with bright-yellow eyes—tackled Kulullû with a fury of teeth and claws. The panther, called Hiss, bit through the demon merman’s arm and clawed open the creature’s throat. Gurgles of blood bubbled from the wounded monster.

Hiss turned his attention to Jestin, used his teeth to grab the boy by the hoodie, and bolted up toward the surface. Jestin’s chest felt ready to burst, desperate for air. He couldn’t hold back anymore and almost breathed in, almost inhaled and drowned himself in filth water.

But the panther leaped from the water just in time, and they landed on a cement walkway that lined the river.

Hiss dropped Jestin onto the cement and shook, splattering water from his fur. The beast gave a roar of annoyance, then started walking in circles, fur rippling with mist and smoke as he shrank back into his standard form: a short-haired black cat that Jestin called Growly McHissy-Face. He hadn’t meant to give the cat that name; he’d just said it once and it kind of stuck.

The feline plopped into a loaf and gave a low growl, keeping his back toward Jestin.

Jestin hacked up water and sat up, wiping the wet ick from his eyes and face. His Metal had powered down, no longer glowing. And he felt covered in filth, like dirty bathwater. "I’m going to need so many vaccinations after this. Seriously, I’m coated in wet disease."

Growly McHissy-Face kept his back to Jestin, didn’t move, didn’t respond.

Oh, come on, Jestin said. I’m sorry you had to get wet, don’t be all passive aggressive about it.

The cat stayed still and ignored his human.

Seriously?

Nothing.

Jestin grumbled and climbed to his feet. Fun fact, did you know the Chicago River actually flows backward? True story. It said so on the internet, the most reliable source of information on earth.

Jestin walked closer to his cat, technically a cait sidhe, a creature from the Faerie Realms. Come on, little guy, hop into your hoodie and let’s go.

The feline turned his head and gave Jestin a disapproving glance.

Jestin sighed. Yeah, I know my hoodie's wet too, but what can I do? I didn’t bring towels. Did you bring towels? There are no towels.

The cat started licking himself, then stopped and hacked; the feline gave Jestin a look that screamed murder.

Jestin waved his hand dismissively. Whatever, you love me.

Suddenly, the river burst with a massive geyser that sprayed through the air. Jestin had seen quite a lot during the past few months—demons, serpent dragons, elves that turned into sort-of-vampires. But he’d never seen anything like this. The merman had grown giant, taking up nearly half the width of the river, splashing waves of water everywhere.

Jestin’s shoulders sank. "I knew I should have napped this afternoon."

Growly McHissy-Face meowed with agreement.

Jestin ignited the power of his Metal, and his cat swirled with mist, shifting back into his panther form. Jestin slid a sword of Dragon Metal from his hand—no guard or hilt, just a blade with runes that glowed gold.

The monster swung its hand; Jestin and Hiss darted away just as the fishy palm swatted the walkway where they had stood.

I don’t suppose you can grow too? Jestin shouted at Hiss. Maybe turn into a giant robot? That would be sick.

Kulullû spat a volley of needles as large as spears. Jestin slashed through as many as he could; several passed his guard and stabbed him, but his scales of energy flared with protection.

Hiss! Jestin shouted.

His panther dashed in front of him. Jestin hopped onto the beast, and they shot into the air toward the giant’s scaly, monstrous face.

The demon merman swung its hand. Hiss twisted in midair, landed on the creature’s wrist, and ran up the monster’s arm toward the head. Jestin held his sword with one hand and used his other to hold on to Hiss for dear life.

Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall . . .

Hiss pounced. Jestin swung his sword wide; the blade streaked with power toward the monster’s head.

The monster spat a burst of mist that stank of rotten fish and gasoline, sweeping Jestin and Hiss from the air. They crashed against the walkway and skidded across the concrete.

Jestin tumbled to a stop near the steps of a pedestrian bridge. He groaned, rubbed his head, and climbed to his feet. Okay, now I’m getting serious. Hiss? Turn into a giant robot.

Hiss crawled back to all fours and gave a growl of annoyance.

Come on, giant panther robot, go!

Kulullû spat another volley of spears coated with grime.

Jestin braced himself. And for a split second, the spears seemed to form two letters in midair: JD. Time started to move slower—at least, it felt that way. Jestin narrowed his eyes. Stop seeing things that aren’t there, he chided himself. You’re not crazy; now get back out there with your magic panther and fight the Little Mermaid’s giant Hell Uncle.

He couldn’t move. He felt frozen in place, paralyzed with fear, so intense it gripped his throat. He thought he might choke to death, and he collapsed to his knees, the spears getting closer, still arranged in those two letters: JD.

Jestin grabbed his throat and nearly toppled over. His heart pounded as fast as a rapid-fire machine gun, and his pulse thundered in his neck. His vision started to spin, terror gripped his body, and his chest tightened.

What was happening? Was his Metal doing this? Sometimes he thought the Metal had a mind of its own.

Leave me alone! he shouted without thinking.

Jestin thrust his hand and fired a mini supernova, a burst of fiery, golden light that punctured through the giant merman and left a gaping hole in its chest. With a final flash of light, the blast incinerated the flesh from the creature’s bones, and then the bones themselves turned to ash that fell like snow, blanketing the river.

The falling ash made two letters on the surface of the water: JD.

Jestin’s vision tilted. He collapsed and tried to call for help, but all he heard was a scream, his own hoarse voice fading as he slipped from consciousness.

CHAPTER TWO

Shade

Jestin groaned as spots of vision blurred into focus. I’m pretty sure being blacked out is my natural state at this point. He’d gotten knocked out plenty of times before, but this time seemed different. Dots of color formed words: JD. Flame. Murder. Death. Jade.

He bolted up with a shot of adrenaline and swatted the air, as if trying to knock the words away. He gasped and nearly toppled onto his side.

Sonofamother, he muttered to himself. "I should not be this familiar with getting knocked into unconsciousness."

Jestin took a moment to get his bearings. He expected to find himself next to the river, but instead, he noticed something less-than promising: someone had dragged him into the pipes and tunnels beneath the city.

He looked over his shoulder for his cat. Growly McHissy-Face sat in the darkness, still wet and still grumpy.

There you are. What happened?

The cat flicked his tail. And then did so again. That did not indicate happiness.

Jestin sighed and climbed to his feet. Okay, I know you’re ticked, but you’re a faerie cat that can turn into a magic panther. You’ll get over it.

Another tail flick.

Seriously? Jestin asked.

Growly McHissy-Face lifted his head, almost regally, in a way that demanded pets and apologies.

Jestin couldn’t resist the cat’s teddy-bear face, even when soaked with putrid river water. Okay, okay, you win. He crouched and petted his cat along the neck. "Thanks for saving my butt. I’m sorry you got wet. You’re a good cat. A good magic-panther-killing-machine."

Growly McHissy-Face nudged his forehead against Jestin’s palm.

Yeah, you’re my best friend too. Jestin smiled; he really did love the crazy floofball. Are you ready to figure out what dragged us down here?

Jestin hesitated. "Wait a second . . . how could anyone drag you anywhere without getting mauled?"

Growly McHissy-Face answered by biting one of his toenails and pitter-pattering into the shadows.

Jestin sighed and followed. I hate it when he does that, he whispered, then called after the cat. I hope you know, you’re ruining the moment we just had.

They moved into one of the overflow tunnels that connected the river to the city’s sewage and drainage system. About as pleasant as it sounded. The entire area smelled like a public restroom left unwashed for decades. Filth and grime coated the brick walls, and Jestin’s worn sneakers splashed in liquid that soaked his socks and stung his feet.

You know there are rats the size of dogs down here, Jestin whispered to his cat. And a flash flood of sewer water could sweep us away at any second. If the toxic fumes don’t kill us first. But sure, let’s just walk around aimlessly.

Growly McHissy-Face sniffed a sigh at his human.

Sigh to you too, pal. Jestin took a deep breath, then regretted it and coughed. "Okay, we’re so going to die down here. Let’s think this through, shall we? Figure this out. Recap time. We came out here because Colt got a lead on a Dragon Medal—"

Growly McHissy-Face interrupted with a mrrow, but Jestin waved his hand dismissively. Yes, this really is necessary. Shush. Anyway, a Dragon Medal . . .

Jestin belonged to a group of people who refused to accept the world they lived in as normal. Several of them used Dragon Metal like Jestin, and their leader, Gideon, wanted to collect all twelve of the medallions forged with the mysterious substance. He needed the medals to fight a war he fought on two fronts.

Front one: a force called the Great Dark won the battle for mankind’s soul, cutting the earth off from the heavens and gripping the world in chaos. Gideon planned to defeat this seemingly all-powerful, mysterious force that no one could define and restore the earth’s connection to the Heavenly Realms, the source of all magic.

Easy, right?

Tiamat sat at the top of the Great Dark’s totem pole of evil shenanigans. She didn’t have a physical form that existed in our realm, but that didn’t stop her from commanding minions like the Eleven Beasts. Jestin had run into several of the beasts during his brief time as a wannabe hero, and he’d also met the guy that held their leash: Lagren, a weird demon who may or may not have been a god at some point. Lagren had attacked the Divinity School while Jestin had posed as a student there.

Do you remember how ridiculous he looked in his stupid round hat? Jestin asked his cat.

Growly McHissy-Face sniffed another sigh. So of course, Jestin continued.

Front two: the Three Great Schools of Magic spent all their time fighting against one another instead of battling the Great Dark. They bound the remnants of magic in the world, perverted it. Gideon wanted to defeat the Schools and liberate the remnants of magic.

Also easy. Gosh, we could get all this done and be home in time for breakfast! Wait. No. Not so much.

Jestin found it all exhausting. He just wanted to make a difference, to help people.

Growly McHissy-Face gave a long, drawn-out mrrow of disapproval.

"I do not ramble, Jestin said. I speak concisely and only when necessary. Sort of. Some of the time, at least. Maybe."

Another quick mrrow.

Whatever, you’re just saying that. Anyway . . . Dragon Metal Medals. So, Colt used a Relic to pinpoint a surge of energy out here by the river. He thought it could be a Dragon Medal. So, I came out here with you to check it out, but instead, we found a Beast of Tiamat hypnotizing people and making them jump into the river. Rude.

A meow of agreement.

We killed him—I think—so what else is out here?

Suddenly, the shadows darkened and became as thick as oil. The blackness peeled from the walls and pooled within the tunnel in front of Jestin and his cat.

Growly McHissy-Face shot an accusatory glance at his human.

Okay, okay. I jinxed us. Got it.

The shadows reminded him of the Gallu demon that killed his best friend, Nat, in juvenile detention. No . . . he was more than a friend. The memory triggered panic. Flashes of recollection: the Gallu grabbed Nat by the neck and threw him down the hall like a broken toy; slammed Jestin against a wall so hard he thought his spine had cracked; took hold of Nat’s fallen form and grabbed at the boy’s soul.

Jestin’s breath caught in his throat.

He ignited the power of his Metal. His irises shined with a golden hue, and golden scales formed along his temples, down his neck, and along his forearms.

The shadows coalesced into a human-shaped blob that looked as though it wore a ragged cloak of pure darkness. The cloak floated as if underwater, completely sealing the figure wrapped within its shadows.

Jestin expected his cat to shift to panther form, but the transformation didn’t happen. The feline sat and stared ahead, as if transfixed by the murky black.

Jestin gritted his teeth and glared at the stranger. I don’t know who you are. But I’ve fought snake dragons and freaks made out of stained glass. A little shadow doesn’t—

The cloaked figure dropped, falling to its unseen knees, injured.

Jestin tilted his head. I didn’t even get a chance to finish taunting you.

Slowly, the swirling darkness settled over the shadowed form until he resembled an actual humanoid figure wearing a physical cloak of black cloth. The stranger grabbed his chest and breathed a hiss of pain.

Growly McHissy-Face walked over to the stranger and lifted a paw, slowly, as if trying to boop the cloaked man on the nose.

Jestin knitted his brow. Okay, seriously, what the hell?

The stranger pulled back his hood and revealed his face. He had soft, slender features and chalk-white skin, etched with black tattoo lines: a V over an upside-down V on his forehead and a single line beneath each eye, down to his jawline. His shaggy, short hair had the same pale-white color as his skin, and his irises looked rusty red.

An elf.

Crap.

See, elves didn’t live in forests and dance like happy faeries anymore. They’d lost their magic, the same as humans, and hid in the slums of the city. Worse, they joined with the forces of the Great Dark, somehow, and gained demon energy—cursed auras—in exchange for their service. Their power gave them superhuman strength, speed, and reflexes, and they needed to drink blood to keep their mojo going. Also, they hated sunlight. Vampires didn’t technically exist, but elves came close.

Jestin slid a blade from his palm and ignited its golden runes. You have five seconds to tell me what’s—

Please stop talking, the elf said, his voice a forced, gravelly whisper. I saved your life once in the past. And again when I brought you and your cait sidhe down here to safety. You had lost consciousness. Easy prey for the creatures of evil that swarm the area. Please show me the gratitude of respect.

Jestin opened his eyes wide. The teen stumbled upon the creepy vamp-elves for the first time three months ago, and they’d almost killed him—until a living shadow saved him. This guy.

Holy crap, Jestin whispered. You’re Tirich. Tara’s brother.

I am aware of my name. Tirich gripped his side as though afraid his guts would spill out. The elf nearly tipped over but leaned on his hand to steady himself.

What are you doing out here? Jestin asked. "We’ve been looking for your sister for months. Ish. I think. I really don’t have a good grasp of time."

Tirich swayed on his knees, brow knitted with pain. Before he could answer or say anything more, he collapsed, his cloak folding over him like worn blankets of darkness.

Jestin cursed beneath his breath. Well that’s . . . cute. He looked at his cat. "See, this is why you don’t let creepy strangers drag you into underground tunnels."

The cat blepped out his tongue.

Very helpful, thank you, Jestin said with enough sarcasm that even a cat could understand. So . . . Tirich said there were still ‘creatures of evil’ around here, huh? Wanna go say hi?

CHAPTER THREE

Them Chains

Jestin let Hiss take the lead through the tunnels. The boy had a terrible sense of direction, but the magic panther knew his way around any terrain—even while carrying an unconscious elf on his back.

They made their way to a grate that Jestin pried open with Metal-enhanced strength, and then climbed through, entering a basement level of a massive apartment building that looked out upon the river.

No lights. No power. Several blocks had suffered blackouts.

At least there’s no creepy Stillness this time. Blackouts, I can handle.

Still, he felt a pending sense of dread in the back of his throat, one that made it difficult to breathe, like being choked by his own emotions. The Stillness . . . He still remembered the Gallu circling him, Colt and Zadie in the Villa, the floor collapsing from underneath him, the grip of the rock soldiers, and the stench of the demon blob known as Asag.

He leaned on Hiss to steady himself. The panther gave his human a quick glance of concern, eyes opened wide.

I’m fine, Jestin whispered. Let’s just get out of here.

Hiss found a stairwell and led the way up into an atrium that wrapped around the base of the building. Dead trees dotted the center of the indoor pathway, along with benches and lampposts. The entire area stretched about nine stories upward, with balconies and circular columns embedded in the walls.

Mist clouded everything.

Indoor mist, Jestin whispered. Great, that’s always a good sign.

Hiss rumbled a soft growl.

I can’t call for help, Jestin whispered back; no, he didn’t speak cat, but he understood the panther in the way that people understood their pets. The river shorted my comm and ruined my phone.

Another soft growl.

Your confidence in me is overwhelming, thanks.

They moved ahead slowly. The mist felt cold and damp against Jestin’s skin, a dirty wet, like spray from a sludge-filled lakefront breeze. The sensation gave him goose bumps, and the hairs stood up on the back of his neck.

"Hiss, if you can get us out of here in the next three seconds, I will give you so much catnip and—"

Jestin stopped in his tracks. He noticed bodies sprawled across the floor and nearby benches. The mist obscured most of his view, but he spotted at least a dozen of them, all elves, all dead, their limbs and heads twisted at unnatural angles.

What the hell? Jestin whispered.

He kept walking past the bodies strewn about the floor and benches, but as he made his way around the atrium, deeper into the mist, he saw the shapes of humanoid shadows in midair. Still. Lifeless. Bent and crooked.

Jestin tilted his head. What the hell am I seeing?

Visibility sucked in the mist, but as he moved closer to the figures hovering in midair, he noticed they weren’t floating. They were suspended in chains that crisscrossed the walls, ceiling, and floor like a spider web.

Hiss gave a low growl of caution.

Jestin nodded. I am always careful.

Hiss sniffed a breath of disbelief.

"I am almost always careful."

The chains had twisted the dead elves into odd positions, some with arms and legs bent backward, several with heads twisted in 180-degree angles, and others with backs bent so far backward that their heads touched their heels.

Jestin stepped closer to the chains. They looked dull gray and worn, cracked.

He reached out.

And he touched the chains.

At the slightest touch, the chains crumbled into dust, link-by-link, a chain reaction that dropped the lifeless bodies of the elves onto the floor, the thumps of their frail bodies hitting the walkway might as well have been as loud as thunder within the silence of the atrium.

Jestin may or may not have let out a shriek as he hopped back.

The last of the bodies fell.

Silence. Except for the sound of his heart hammering in his chest. The ashes of the chains started to dissolve and blow away into the mist, reminding Jestin of what happened when certain Relics exhausted their magic and crumbled into pieces.

He took a deep breath to try to calm himself, failing.

That was weird, right? he asked his panther. That was weird.

Hiss purred with an anxious caution.

Jestin nodded. Tirich had hinted at evil creatures still in the area. And Jestin no longer wanted to bump into them. He’d seen enough.

Evil creatures . . . Jestin’s heart started pounding so rapidly he thought he would die—literally die. He remembered botched, artificial angels breaking from tubes and trying to kill him. Abilsin using the power of his mind to throw church pews. Lagren filling a library with blue fire. The Gallu demons . . . the Gallu . . . Nat.

He felt dizzy. His vision hazed with a flash of heat through his body.

Fear.

Flight or fight.

Flight won.

Okay, he said between deep breaths that felt empty. Okay, let’s get the hell out of here . . .

***

An abandoned synagogue rested in the North Side of Chicago. Built in the 1920s, the building had fallen into disrepair, with debris-cluttered offices, classrooms with chipped paint and worn walls, collapsed ceiling tiles, and cracked windows.

The main prayer hall, however, managed to keep an air of beauty. Rows of pews faced the front of the hall, where the ornate Holy Ark remained. Arched stained-glass windows lined the walls, casting shades of purple, dark red, and navy blue throughout the dimly lit area.

Emma Hawk sat on the dusty floor near the Holy Ark. Fifteen, the girl had dark-black skin that complimented her long, curly black hair and brown eyes. She wore a simple pair of dark blue jeans and a purple button-down blouse.

Slowly, the girl laid a mirrored plaque onto the floor in front of her. The plaque looked ancient, with aged stone surrounding a circular pane of cracked glass. She placed her hands along the stone frame, tracing its markings and activating the magic stored within those markings.

Images twirled within the small mirror. She watched Jestin move through one of the apartment buildings along the Chicago River. After he found the chains that crumbled at his touch, he regrouped with Hiss and left the building.

Emma felt a growing sense of guilt as each moment passed. She had betrayed him. He would never trust her again.

She knew Jestin from her time at a convent and years later during her time as a student at Divinity, a front for the Verum, the largest of the Three Great Schools of Magic. But she never told Jestin her