Chapter One:

The Static in the Air
The BMW E46 sat in the driveway like a sleeping predator, its Topaz Blue paint gleaming under the driveway floodlights. To most people, it was just a well-maintained machine. To Billy Jean Kat Wear, it was a responsibility.
Billy Jean sat perched on the brick pillar at the edge of the property, her tuxedo coat blending into the shadows, save for the four white “speed socks” on her paws. She wasn’t watching for mice. She was watching for the wrong kind of shadow. Inside the house, she could hear the muffled laughter of Charlie Wear and the family. She liked the way Charlie’s voice rumbled—it was a low-frequency vibration that felt like home. But tonight, the air felt different. It tasted like ozone and expensive copper.
A low-slung black sedan coasted down the street, its headlights off. Most cats would have ignored it, but Billy Jean’s ears swiveled like radar dishes. As the sedan slowed near the driveway, she felt a prickle of static electricity dance across her whiskers. Her pupils dilated until her eyes were twin black voids. She didn’t need to see the high-tech signal jammer the driver was holding; she could feel the invisible waves it was throwing at the BMW’s security system.
“Not on my watch,” she didn’t growl—cats like Billy Jean didn’t need to growl. She simply stood up, her back arching as a faint, violet shimmer rippled through her fur.
She leapt from the pillar, landing silently on the BMW’s hood. The moment her paws touched the metal, the thief’s electronic device let out a pathetic pop and began to smoke. The violet light from Billy Jean’s eyes pulsed once, syncing with the car’s heartbeat. The thieves frozen in the sedan didn’t know why their gear had fried, or why the pavement beneath them suddenly felt like it was pulling their car toward the curb with the weight of a thousand anchors.
Inside, Charlie Wear looked out the window, spotting the tuxedo cat sitting regally on the hood. “Look at that,” Charlie chuckled to his son, “Billy Jean’s just making sure the wax job is holding up.”
The sedan sped off, tires screeching in a desperate retreat. Billy Jean didn’t move until the sound faded into the distance. She leaned down, gave the BMW’s Roundel logo a single, proprietary lick, and hopped down to head inside for her evening cream. The car was safe, the family was happy, and Grandad Charlie was none the wiser that his grand-cat was the most dangerous thing on four legs in this neighborhood.

Stay tuned…more to come