Chase Maverick's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Chase Maverick swore he could outbake Hemlockvale's reigning champion, and the whole valley heard him do it. Now he stood in his log cabin kitchen, staring at the one thing that could make a liar of him. His oven was dead. The old electric coils glowed orange for a second, then quit. He opened the door and poked the rack. Cold. His cake batter sat on the counter, ready, with nowhere to bake. His gray pitbull watched from the doorway. The dog tilted his head and gave a low, knowing grunt, as if to say the boast had finally caught up with him. "Don't start," Chase said. "I've got three days until the contest. I just need heat." The dog trotted onto the wide porch and barked once. Chase followed him out past the rocking chairs. The dog stood at the yard's edge, nose pointed at a huge flowering bush. Clusters of purple blossoms hung from it, each one shaped like a tiny dog. Chase had ignored that bush for years. Behind it, half swallowed by vines, sat a squat brick oven he'd forgotten he owned. "The old brickfire oven," Chase said. He grinned. "I can do this." He tore the vines loose and swept out the ash. Real bakers used wood fire, he told himself. Champions did. He stacked split logs inside and struck a match. The flame caught. Smoke curled up through the chimney, thick and sweet. Heat rolled off the bricks and warmed his face. For the first time all day, he felt invincible again. Then something dropped onto the roof of the cabin. Wings. Big ones. Chase looked up and froze. A red fox crouched on the shingles, but wings spread from its back like a dragon's. It fixed its eyes on the rising smoke and the batter bowl he'd carried outside. The creature dove. It snatched the bowl in its jaws and beat its wings hard. The pitbull launched after it, barking, jaws snapping at empty air. The fox climbed out of reach. Chase grabbed the only thing near, a split log, and hurled it. He missed. The fox banked over the trees and vanished with his batter. Chase stood in the smoke, breathing hard. The oven worked. That part was done. The bricks were hot and ready. But his batter was gone, and he had no eggs left, no flour, nothing to bake before the fire died. He looked at his dog. The dog looked back and whined. "Okay," Chase said. "So I've got an oven and nothing to put in it." He wiped soot from his goatee and stared at the empty counter through the open door. The fire crackled behind him, burning down a supply he could not waste. "Fine. Then I find more. Tonight."