Excerpt from Chapter One, A Gathering in the Chapel
Against a full orange moon that seemed to punch the night sky, eight
members of the Mastiff County Big Brown Bat Colony silently wheeled
through the dark, each clutching a Nightshade rat in its claws. The rats,
airborne for the first time, tightly gripped the legs of their bat escorts,
staring down nervously at the swamp below. Lofty white oaks and
cypress trees, steeped in hanging moss, smothered the ground, curling
under the rats' feet like ancient beings, too aged to stand erect--their
spidery branches beckoning the newcomers into their secret world.
Vincent bristled as they swept over the plantation manor, a ghostly whitewash against the black, its broken windows like rotting teeth, flaunting a ghoulish grin. Fitting, he thought. Where else should the rat dwell--the White Assassin, as the creatures of the swamp had aptly named him. He glanced over at Victor, who gazed wide-eyed at the vast swamplands, then over to Carn, who suddenly twisted under the bat’s grip, jolting as an owl screeched from the shadows. Carn grunted as his escort squeezed him tighter, the bat sentinel warning him that it was not the time for such fidgeting, not unless Carn wished to be dropped into the bog, quickly consumed by whatever lurked below. Vincent knew well why Carn was so nervous. It wasn't just because of the precarious journey across the treacherous swamp. Carn faced a far more dangerous mission, one that would have even the hardest of rats quaking in fear.
Chief Elder Dresden soared down to the chapel at breakneck speed, his oversized wings unfurling as they neared. Dangling precariously in Dresden's grasp, Juniper examined the bats' swampland home. It was a crumbling chapel, rotted by time and the elements to a deathly black. Its steeple hung at an exaggerated angle, only held upright by the towering trees it leaned against. All the windows and doors had long since disappeared. Fat, gnarled tree limbs and creepers grew through the openings, rambling endlessly across the chapel floor and up the crumbling walls.
The bats carried the rats into the chapel through a gaping hole in the steeple. Vincent's skin prickled as he took in the bizarre scene. The walls were adorned with peculiar symbols and oversized paintings of ferocious fanged snakes in luminescent colors being flung into fire and chopped apart with swords wielded by black cloaked humans. A secret sect once lived in the chapel, Dresden had explained, using snakes as part of their religious sacrifice.
Swooping up a long staircase, Dresden flew to a round oak podium overlooking the chapel's pews. A lone torch stood on the podium, resting crookedly in its rusted iron stand, its flames illuminating the painted serpents. Dresden released Juniper as he landed on the podium. The rest of his sentinels followed, dropping off the other rats behind Juniper then flying to the ceiling in one smooth motion. While the rats were relieved to be back on land--or close to it--they remained edgy, unsettled by the flickering images of writhing hideous snakes all around them.
Dresden gave a shrill cry. The rats covered their ears, the sound, excruciating. Within seconds, tiny eyes popped out from the darkness.
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The mysterious white rat returns in THE WHITE ASSASSIN, Book II of the Nightshade Chronicles. Three years later, Billycan has resurfaced as the self-proclaimed lord of the swamp rats--a primitive horde, eager to invade Nightshade City and claim it for their leader. In order to save Nightshade City, Juniper, Vincent, and the Council, must discover what really took place in the lab where Billycan was born, revealing a truth so shocking, not even Billycan himself can believe it, and raising the question: can evil ever be cured?
