The Dragon Guard by Emily Drake

“Are you sure it was not the wind, or something? Maybe a possum or raccoon up on the roof?”
    Her grandmother shook her head firmly. “It is made, as you know, to whistle in the wind, or clatter if a great breeze or earthquake shock rattles it. But no. I was in the garden, and looked up at it, and it turned its metal head and hissed down at me. A long, warning hiss.”
    â€œWarning you of what?”
    Her grandmother shrugged. “I do not know. But I thought of you and your friends instantly and decided you should know what little I do.”
    Ting swung her legs around. “If I went out to look at it, do you think it would . . . ?”
    â€œDo it again? I doubt it.” Her grandmother smiled then. “But shall we look?”
    They went out the door to the kitchen garden courtyard. The dragon was made so that it could be seen easily from that side, as well as on the roof ridge immediately over the entrance to the house. She looked up at it. Sinuous like the design of her bracelet, it was similar to a weather vane, but far more clever and sculpted than that. She had never really seen anything like it before coming here. They stood in silence for a few moments, until her grandmother gave a weary sigh. Ting put her arm about her shoulders, to steady her, as night crept close to the garden and she could feel the dampness of a Bay fog in the air. “When I come back,” she said, “perhaps I’ll hear it then.”
    They turned away, toward the golden doorway of the well lit kitchen. Metal creaked overhead. Ting looked up to see the chrysanthemum-holding dragon peering down at her. It let out a long hiss. Then went quiet. She blinked in amazement.
    Her grandmother nodded. “Tell them,” she said. “Warn them.”
    Ting’s heart beat rapidly. Her younger ears had caught what her grandmother had not.
    The metal dragon had not just hissed. It had said, “Jassssssssssssson.”

9
    FRIDAY, FRIDAY
    S OMETIMES Thursdays could be so bad, Trent thought, you just wanted them to sink into oblivion forever so you could get on into Friday, which always seemed to be better no matter what was happening. That, of course, was just one of his mistakes.
    Along with reading Ting’s e-mail about a mysterious warning from the roof dragon at her grandmother’s to confound himself with, his father came home from work with a box full of personal things from his desk and an overloaded briefcase. He sat down, cradling the box on his knee, and looked at Trent sadly. “Business,” he said, “is not going well.”
    â€œThey fired you?”
    â€œNo,” his father answered thoughtfully. “Not yet.” He shuffled his carton over onto the free part of the couch. “We’ll find out tomorrow if the company has found a buyer willing to take on the debt, or if we’re all laid off. Laid off,” his father repeated, “is not the same as being fired.”
    â€œIf you’re out of work . . .” Trent muttered, and stopped at the expression on his father’s tired face.
    â€œFired means I did something wrong. Laid off means . . . the company is struggling and there’s no work. It means I can get a job with someone else, hopefully quickly.”
    â€œA lot of people are getting laid off,” Trent pointed out. “It’s been on the news for months.”
    â€œI know.” His father let his briefcase hit the floor. “That’s why I started packing tonight. These are things I don’t need at the office anyway, and if it comes to the worst, I’m ready to go. I’ll know tomorrow.”
    â€œAnd what then?”
    â€œThen, I bring home my good briefcase, and my last check, and I start sending out résumés. I understand it’s done over the Internet now, a lot of the time.”
    And so on Friday night, Trent sat in his room, doing his homework, and listening for the front door. He didn’t