The White Assassin (17 page)

Vincent tapped his foot nervously, wondering why Telula and Cotton had not yet arrived. Bats were
always
on time. It was their way. If they were late, it meant something was wrong.

As he waited, leaning against the green Dumpster™ in the alley of the Brimstone Building, he thought of something that had not crossed his mind in years—the chimneys. With still no sign of the bats, he crept underneath the Dumpster to have a look. There lay the five derelict chimneys. Juniper and Vincent had ripped their flues off three years ago when they invaded the Combs, and they were now just five holes filled with leaves and muck. It was strange to think that the Catacombs were now deserted. The once-crowded underground city, right beneath his feet, lay dark, empty, and crumbling.

It was cold and raining. Fitting, thought Vincent. Things had become strained in Nightshade. The capture of Billycan and his peculiar transformation from the serum, whether it was a lie or not, unsettled them all. Vincent still believed Billycan was lying, he
had
to be. His newfound sincerity was shockingly convincing, but after all it was
Billycan—the infamous White
Assassin
—a liar, a murderer. And who was this female, Lenore? Was she the traitor? How were Juniper and Billycan linked to this Lenore? And how convenient! The only names Billycan could recall other than Lenore’s were some lab rat named Dorf and of course Killdeer—two dead rats!

Juniper was acting so peculiar. He never kept secrets. He never lied. He was the one rat everyone counted on, especially Vincent. Juniper was not only his friend, he was like his father. For a fleeting moment his heart sank. No, he thought. Juniper would never betray us. Vincent was mortified for even considering it for a second.

Everyone was on edge. Even the Council members Vincent knew to be innocent were anxious. Being interrogated was unsettling under any circumstances, and though Nightshade’s Security was far different, it still must bring back memories of Killdeer’s horrid high majors and their brutal methods of grilling innocent citizens.

Vincent had to find out Cole and Juniper’s secret. He suspected that Lenore, whoever she was, was the key to it, but how? None of it made sense. What could be so horrible that Juniper would keep it to himself? Maybe if he revealed this secret, things would get better in Nightshade. After living eleven years under the High Ministry, Vincent knew as well as anyone that secrets and lies led only to suspicion and misery.

Looking down at the chimneys, he felt the same sinking feeling he’d had all those years ago in the Combs, but now he had so much more to lose. He still believed they should have gone to the swamp and eliminated Billycan. But Juniper had repeatedly refused Vincent’s pleas to put aside their sworn oath and destroy Billycan once and for all.

“Carn, is that you?”

Vincent sighed with relief. It was Telula. He sprinted out from
under the Dumpster. Telula and Cotton had landed on its lid. “It’s Vincent,” he announced. Carn had asked Vincent to go in his place. He couldn’t bear to see the bats, who only reminded him of Oleander.

“Carn did not come,” said Vincent. “Truth be told, he’s … out of sorts.”

“Ah, Vincent, it’s good to see you,” said Cotton happily.

“Yes,” agreed Telula. “We’ve missed you. But tell us, how is Carn ‘out of sorts’?”

“It’s his heart, I suppose,” said Vincent. “He misses, well, Oleander … quite a bit.” He changed the subject. “I was growing rather worried about you two. You’re never late.”

“Well,” said Telula, “it’s funny you should mention Oleander. There’s been a development.”

“What sort of—” Vincent gasped, choking on his words as a brown rat stepped out from the shadows.

“Hello, Vincent,” said Oleander.

“Oleander … hello. How … why are you here?” Had she heard what he’d said? How he stupidly revealed Carn’s feelings for her? Carn would never forgive him.

“It’s good to see you, too,” she said, grinning.

“Oh, sorry, I’m just surprised to see you.
Glad
to see you, just surprised.”

She had a rolled-up parchment tucked under her arm. It was starting to get wet.

“What’s that?”

“We have discovered some papers in the manor attic,” she answered. “Since it involves only the rats, we thought the news should be delivered by one of us. I volunteered to come.” She smiled shyly. “I’m a little out of sorts myself, I suppose. I … I needed a reason to see Carn.”

Vincent grinned at her. “So what did you discover?”

“It seems we, too—the horde, that is—well, we are different. Secluded in the swamp, we thought
all
rats were like us. We had no idea there was anything unusual about our kind. As it turns out, we
are
different from all other rats—except you Trillium rats. As a matter of fact, we are one and the same.”

“But that’s impossible,” said Vincent, shaking his head cynically. “First off, your lives aren’t nearly as long as ours or Dresden’s colony of bats. It’s impossible you’re from here. Why, Trillium creatures live as long as humans. Your family, how long do they live? Maybe ten years at most?”

Oleander eyed Vincent coyly, cutting him off. “My father, Mannux … Vincent, he’s
sixty-eight
years old.”

Vincent stumbled backward, dumbfounded. “Why didn’t you say anything? You should have told us!”

Oleander tilted her head, and her devilish smile slowly emerged. “We didn’t know there was anything special about our lifespan. Besides, Nightshade, why didn’t you ask?”

“So, has he
really
changed?” asked Oleander as they made their way down a torchlit corridor.

“He acts like a changed rat, but I don’t believe it for a moment,” said Vincent.

“When you saw him, how did he behave?”

“Like he didn’t know anything of his past, except for dim memories of his childhood. He was agreeable, too—downright pleasant. It was jarring, to say the least; a very believable performance, but a performance all the same.”

“Could this serum have changed him, at least temporarily?”

Vincent scoffed. “Trust me, he hasn’t changed and never will.
He’s a fiend and a murderer. It seems the older Council members are forgetting that. I feel Juniper wants to blame everything on the drugs Billycan was given in the lab—as if that were an excuse.”

“Yes, but if he was
made
into a murderer because of those drugs that were being pumped into him, can he really be blamed? Would you blame, say, Victor if he had suffered the same fate and become a killer?”

“Victor could never turn into a murderer, no matter what,” said Vincent flatly. “It’s just not in him.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“Simmer down, Nightshade,” she said, giving him a friendly push on the shoulder. “I’m not on anyone’s side. I’m more interested in the truth. All I’m saying is, if murder is not something innate in Victor, then maybe it was never innate in Billycan, either.”

Vincent didn’t answer. His mind was made up.

They stopped in front of the Council Chamber. “Now, everyone’s going to be shocked to see you—Carn, especially,” said Vincent. He looked down at his feet, embarrassed. “Did you happen to hear what I said to Cotton and Telula, before I knew you were there?”

Oleander smiled. “I didn’t hear a word.”

Vincent grinned. “Thank you.” Opening the chamber door, he poked his head inside. The Council was seated, waiting for Vincent to return with his report from the swamp. Everyone was chatting—everyone except Carn, who slumped glumly, a miserable lump.

“I’ll be only a moment,” whispered Vincent to Oleander. “Wait here.” She nodded. Vincent slipped inside.

Juniper looked up from his papers. “Ah, I’m glad you’re back, Vincent. You’re running late. I was a bit worried.”

“I’ve a good reason for my tardiness,” said Vincent. “One you
all
need to hear.” Everyone stopped chatting and looked up at him.

Mother Gallo and Elvi glanced at each other.

“Is everything all right?” asked Carn, now on the edge of his seat. “The swamp … there’s no trouble, is there?”

“All’s well in the swamp,” said Vincent.

“Oh, good,” said Carn, exhaling.

“Then what is it, lad?” asked Cole.

“What are you hiding?” asked Clover, giving him the same look his mother used to give him when he’d been mischievous.

“Why, you look like the cat who swallowed the canary,” said Juniper. “Now that you’ve clearly grabbed the entire Council’s attention, you might as well spit it out.”

“Yes,” barked old Striker. “Time is wasting.”

“Well, it appears we are not as unique as we once thought,” said Vincent. “Carn, you told me it wasn’t fair how long we lived compared to other rats. How it made certain
things
impossible. You’ll be happy to know you were wrong.” Everyone at the table stared at each other, confused. “We were all wrong. It seems our friends in the swamp share many qualities with us. In fact, apparently they’re originally from Trillium, too.”

Vincent stepped back to the door and stuck his head out into the corridor. “C’mon,” he whispered to Oleander, and gently pulled her into the chamber.

Clumsily Carn rose from his chair. “Oh … Oleander … you’re … you’re here … in Nightshade!”

The brown rat smiled her impish smile. “Yes, Corn the snake killer, I’m here.”

P
ACING AGAIN,
Billycan racked his brain, trying to remember something, anything. Juniper had told him it would take time for the serum to work. Why was he given this
serum
in the first place? If he’d done wrong, why didn’t they just kill him? They were going to let him rot in this cell forever, weren’t they…as Billycan saw it, a far crueler punishment.

He threw himself down on his cot, wincing in pain. He tried to remember the last time he had seen Lenore. Somehow it was connected to the other name he remembered…Killdeer.

It was dark. Lenore and Billycan had taken shelter from the cold under a beat-up van in a desolate alley. They quickly realized they were not alone.

“There’s two,” said one of the men, crouching down slightly. He motioned to his companion, signaling him to go
to the other side of the van. “Stupid rats are hiding under our van, of all the dumb luck!”

“Where?” said the other man. “I don’t see ’em.”

“They’re on your side,” he said, pointing to the back of the vehicle, “behind the tire. I can see their lab tags reflecting in the beam of my flashlight. There’s a dark one and an albino.”

The other man made a sour face. “I hate those white ones. Evil-looking devils.”

“Yeah, mean suckers, too. Bosses said we’re supposed to bring back the colored ones alive and kill the albinos.”

“I thought they wanted
all
those flea bags back in one piece.”

“Don’t you ever listen? The white ones get the ax. I heard two of the suits talking at HQ. They said the stuff they shot the albinos up with turns ’em bad—
real
bad. Makes them do stuff normal rats wouldn’t do—can’t do. ‘Violent tendencies,’ the suits said.”

“Violent?”

“Deadly was another word they used.”

The other man backed up a step as he spied the albino near the tire. “How deadly?”

“Like rabid dogs—and just as crazy.”

“Great gig you got us, Lester. Thanks for nothing.”

“Oh, can it! All
you
got to do is trap the brown one.” A wicked grin materialized across his face as he cocked his shotgun. “I’ll take care of the albino myself.” He tossed the other man a thick pair of gloves. “Grab your cage, little brother. It’s time for some fun.”

“Billycan,” whispered Lenore, “we have to get away from
these men.” She nodded to Billycan, who followed her to the very center of the car’s undercarriage, making it harder for the men to reach them.

“What should we do?” he asked.

“Whatever happens, don’t let them take you. You must fight for your freedom at all costs. No matter what happens to me, just worry about yourself, all right? Don’t risk getting captured or killed on my account.”

“But I—”

“Understand, Billycan?” she asked firmly.

“Yes, but—”

Without warning, Lenore darted out from under the car. The man with the cage came at her, surprisingly agile given his thickset build.

“Don’t let that one get away!” yelled the other. “We get three hundred a head for the live ones! Even more for the females—they’re breeders!”

Billycan watched helplessly as Lenore dodged the gloved man, dashing this way and that. Finally he cornered her against a brick wall.

“C’mon, rat, playtime’s over!” huffed the gloved man. “It’s freezing out here!” He lunged for her, grabbing her by the scruff of her neck. “Ha! Gotcha, ya mangy rodent!”

In vain Lenore clawed at him, unable to slash through his heavy leather gloves. She snarled and hissed, writhing and twisting as she dangled from his hand.

Laughing, the gloved man cruelly swung her about as the other man went for the cage. “Not so tough now, are we?” he said. “Back to the lab with you, my little meal ticket!”