by Holly Rutan
"Yes, sir," we said in unison.
"Thank you, Agent Haddon. I appreciate your service; that will be all."
"Yes, sir," Ken answered.
The three of us logged out. I leaned back in my chair and let a lungful of breath escape my lips in an explosive exhalation.
"I second that," Charles said.
"I knew about the boss," I commented, looking at the ceiling. "It's a miracle he got promoted as far as he has with how strongly he's worked to uphold nonhuman rights. But I didn't know about Tyrant. It's good to know that not all of them up there are against us."
"Remember what you were told when you accepted the badge," Charles said. "Headmaster Moore meant what he said. The DMA is supposed to protect nonhumans and humans alike. The upper echelons don't understand that; too many political appointments and too much money are involved to keep our purpose pure, especially when the politicians think being tough on us monsters will get them votes. The rank and file knows, though. Sure, there's some scumbags, but having a were take a bullet for you tends to wear the edges of xenophobia away."
"That's me," I said with a flippant salute. "Meat shield supreme. And speaking of meat..."
"Food?"
"I want food."
Chapter Sixteen
Wolves have packs. Cats have prides. Rats have clans. No matter what kind of animal, weres always have a territory and know exactly where it begins and ends. The territory is defined by the amount of ground that a were or group of weres can observe and protect. For a solitary, that might be a single building. Unlike the wolves' packs, which consist of a family or two headed by an alpha pair, the rat clans all work together in alliance. The rat clans' territory spans vast miles underground, and they are ruled by Queen Gamble.
During the Great Surge of 1955, while human governments were paralyzed with confusion and lashing out at any available target, while most weres were newly snapped and going berserk, the rats took to the sewers and never left. Over time, they dug below the sewers, constructing their warrens deep underground in the bedrock of Los Angeles, heedless of the constant seismic shifting.
"I've only been down here once," Charles said from under my feet, his boots ringing against the metal rungs of the ladder we were descending.
I grunted an answer that could loosely be described as inquiring.
"The rats either don't have rogues or they are eliminated so mercilessly that we never hear of them, so there's not much reason to come down here," he puffed. "I had to visit and pay my respects when I transferred to Los Angeles. They seem to be doing okay on food; at least no one looked too thin. God only knows what they're eating."
"Rubbish," I panted in answer. "When times get tough, they stay in beast as much as they can and eat worms and beetles, roots, leftovers, and trash. Tim told me once, when Moira and I visited him. He was drunk at the time."
"Ugh."
"Hey, beggars can't be choosers. There were times when I ate canned dog food, even as a human pup. Calories are calories." I huffed a brief bit of laughter, then saved the rest of my breath for the climb.
"You have no idea how horrible that seems to me," Charles said.
I had no reply to that. If eating garbage bothered him, he had never gone hungry.
"Anyway," Charles continued, "they have their essentials covered, but it seemed to me that there's always something people living on the fringes need. I'm really sorry to have you carrying so much stuff. It just seemed like this would be appreciated more than food that would be gone in the flick of an ear."
"Hopefully Queen Gamble agrees," I answered.
It took us nearly fifteen minutes of careful travel to get down to the entrance to the warren. We climbed down a ladder and then had to traverse a tunnel to another ladder, through the layers of city infrastructure and down still farther. Above us the weight of the city rested, a vast monstrosity of concrete and steel. Below us was nothing but silence and darkness. The darkness breathed, a breeze wafting up that stank of turned earth and unwashed bodies and rats. Lots of rats.
The whole time we walked, I kept my eyes on Charles, unable to help the anxiety that crawled through my body in a purely physical reaction.
No way out, no light, no air...
The weight of stone over my head should have been comforting. Wolves like caves and deep burrows and the safety of walls around us. When I was young and still lived at Karen and Peter's house, I would retreat under my bed when the nightmares got too bad and hide in a nest of blankets. Karen would see the empty bed and know it had been a bad night and call me out with soothing words and feed me hot tea and biscuits until I calmed down.
I only like dens with an obvious way out, and I always sleep with a nightlight on. It's yellow and shaped like a star, with a silly, wide-eyed face painted on the front. It smiles brightly, reminding me to cheer up, because there is nothing scary hiding in the darkness.
That thought got me all the way to the warren entrance.
Someone had sequestered an old manhole cover and used it as the door to the warren. They had welded a handle on one end and hinges on the other. My mate hauled open the doorway, and we were confronted with a tunnel. The manhole cover fit the width of the tunnel perfectly; one of us would have to crawl through and haul my backpack after, and the other would have to follow.
I felt my skin tighten as fur that wasn't there stood up on end.
"It will be all right, love," Charles said, grasping my upper arm in reassurance.
I nodded jerkily.
"You want to go first and get it over with? Or after so you see it's safe?" Charles asked.
"I'll, uh, go first," I said.
"Okay. There's another one of these on the other side. Just push it and it will open," he replied, tapping the manhole cover with his fingers.
At his encouraging nod, I took off my heavy bag and reluctantly ducked into the tunnel. Charles lifted up the sack with a grunt and pushed it in behind me. It was a little awkward, pulling the pack and still facing forward, but the last thing I was willing to do was go through that hole feet first.
The tunnel was made of slick metal, as though it were a section of very large pipe that had been appropriated for a use far different than its original purpose. That meant the backpack slid easily. The hard rubber soles of my boots had good purchase. I used that to scramble forward as quickly as I could, before my own memories made me freeze in place like a terrified animal.
I slammed into the opposite end, which swung open on well-oiled hinges, and tumbled to the floor. My heart felt like it was going to jump out of my throat, it was pounding so hard. The air around me reeked of fear.
Charles followed quickly and folded me in his arms. I huddled against him, drawing on his rock-steady calm, until my heart finally slowed.
"Good girl. You made it. See? That wasn't so bad," he soothed.
"How 'bout you two black coats tell me who the hell you are and what you're doing here before I boot your human-loving asses back through the front door," a gruff voice demanded in a clipped accent.
With a startled snarl, I whirled and faced the unexpected threat, teeth bared.
The tunnel had opened into a bedroom-size area made of roughly poured concrete. The floor was flat and scored by the marks of many talons, and the ceiling was rounded in an arch. Park benches lined both walls, and sitting on the park benches waited easily a dozen wererats. Some were in human form, others were in battle—huge, man-sized rats that walked on two feet. They all sat in various poses that screamed of anxiety. That fear I'd smelled wasn't entirely my own, and I covered my teeth with my lips. We were vastly outnumbered.
"So?" the same rat demanded.
He, like the others, was dressed in layers of worn-out clothing, and his body boasted the kind of thin, hungry lines that spoke of a tough childhood. The muscles under his clothes looked rock hard, and he quivered with strong emotion. I couldn't tell if his black eyes held hope or terror.
At Charles's motion, I picked up the heavy bag
from the ground while he spoke.
"We've come to see Queen Gamble," he stated. "I'm Agent Charles Smith, werehunter out of Red Fire. This is my mate, Agent Samantha Davis."
The rat jumped to his feet immediately. "Got news?"
"Some," I answered. "More questions than answers, though. Anyone friends with a fellow named Tim? Short, quick little sneak. Brown hair and beard, a bit too fond of pot and kinda lax on hygiene."
The rat's shoulders slumped. "He's dead. We knew that already."
I looked at him and then swept my gaze over the rest of the faces in the room. Every beady, black eye was fixed on us, and I swallowed at the despair they showed. Drooping whiskers, mussed fur, downcast expressions, and thin cheeks. If they were human, they'd all have tear tracks down their faces.
"How many people are you missing?" I asked.
"My cousins Charlotte and Tomas are gone," the spokesrat answered.
"Patty, Davis, Louie, and Jim," someone else said.
"All my babies," an elderly female squeaked, her high voice breaking. Her equally ancient mate twisted a battered hat in gnarled fingers.
Names were thrown at us in a torrent of voices, and I felt my face pale. It sounded as if nearly an entire clan of rats had gone missing right under our noses, and we hadn't had a clue.
"Our need to visit Queen Gamble is all the more urgent, then," Charles said grimly. "Tim found something and died for it. We need to know what he found. Can one of you take us to her?"
The spokesrat looked at his companions and then back at us. "I hate to miss the chance someone will come back with news of my family, but I guess I'll do it. Ain't ever gonna be anything but bad news anyway."
"Always is," one of the other rats said in a sad, low voice.
"Let's go," the spokesrat said. "I'll take you to her nest, but after that you're on your own. She ain't too happy right now, and I like my tail and whiskers where they are, thanks."
"I don't blame you," Charles answered. "I hear the lady has a temper."
"Buddy, you've got no idea."
The wererat sighed and jerked his chin at an entrance on the opposite side of the room from the tunnel we'd entered through. "C'mon. I want to get this over with so I can get back to waiting."
I nodded and settled the heavy backpack properly across my shoulders. The rat looked back one more time, then with a regretful twist of his lips, opened the wrought iron gate that served as a door and walked through.
"Go slow, werehunter. We've been making some improvements since the last time you were here. There's a bit of a drop. Oh, and I'm Larry, by the way. I work Upside as a mechanic most of the time. Without my cousins to help in the shop, I don't know what I'm gonna do. Guess I'll figure out something."
Charles and I followed Larry silently. My mate had to duck to get through the doorway; from what I'd seen, most of the wererats tended to be on the short side. I felt an immediate sense of relief on the other side as the walls fell away from me and the floor sloped steeply downward.
"We’ve been working on making some more room. Human authorities been bitching for years about how we don't let 'em in for safety inspections and stuff, sayin' we have to follow all the same laws as everyone else. Couldn't believe it when old Gamble actually agreed, but I guess the law's the law. She ain't gonna tolerate no pink skin trying to make us get permits or nothing, but she made us put some of our pinkies Upside to get educated so we don't pull the ceiling in on us," Larry continued. "Guess inspections will come sooner or later."
"It looks like her new policies are doing some good," Charles murmured, turning his head to take in the view.
"Oh yeah. Have to admit it's more comfortable than it was. But that's the platform the old lady fought on, right? She said she'd make life better. Thinks big, old Gamble does," Larry said, puffing out his chest. "She got some wires run, and we got a few telephones now. Maybe in a couple years we'll even have electricity, if we can pay for it. Wouldn't that be something?"
I said nothing, too busy drinking in the sight of the rat city to articulate my thoughts.
The ramp down from the entryway was one of many that crisscrossed through a wide, deep cavern. Pillars of steel and concrete spanned from floor to ceiling at regular intervals, lit from within by a soft, moss-green light. The magic in the pillars whispered to me of cool forests and still pools, a soft and gentle harmony unlike any I had heard before.
Shelters were erected all over the cavern floor. I saw tents, lean-tos made from scrap wood and rags, mud-and-brick huts, even cardboard boxes. Anything, I thought, that would give the owner a bit of privacy.
Wererats scurried back and forth on roads delineated by scavenged brick tile. Many of them held sacks over their backs, hauling what smelled like dirt from one area to another, while others stood around and chatted either in English or sign. I saw several rats grilling what looked like trays of bugs and worms. No matter what they were doing, there was plenty of gesticulating. The tang of anxiety hung heavy in the air.
"Normally, everyone would be out at work Upside or gathering food. The queen asked everyone who thought they could stay without being fired to stick close to home," Larry explained. "Times like this, we gotta stick together and support the clan. 'Specially those of us with folk gone missing. Don't know what I'm gonna do," the rat repeated. "Can't run the shop by myself. Anyway." He shook himself and stood up straight. "Ain't gonna get nothing done loitering around here. Queen Gamble nests in the middle here. See that pillar? The one that's a little more blue and has a ring around it? That's the Home Pillar. You ever get lost, head to that. From there you can get anywhere."
"Sounds good," Charles answered.
"Watch your backs, black-coats."
With that promising advice, Larry turned on his heel and walked away.
I was reluctant to move, but Charles headed down the sloping path to the rat city immediately, and I found myself following him. Wererats turned to look at us as we went by, and few of their faces were friendly or welcoming. It was a fight for me to keep my lips covering my teeth.
A trio of female wererats in battle form detached themselves from their comrades and swaggered in our direction, tails whipping aggressively. They each sported identical brown and white markings. My nose wrinkled in confusion, trying to sort out their scents.
Slumming, black-coats? the first of them signed.
"We've business with your queen," Charles answered, slowing to a halt.
Your kind doesn't belong here, the second signed with a squeal, baring her long incisors. You should leave while your soft, pink skin is still intact.
"Are you stupid? Nose blind? Show some respect for the werehunter, if not for the uniform," I said with a growl.
I don't know how they do it Upside, but down here, respect is earned, the first ratgirl signed, cracking her tail behind her. You think you human lovers can come down here any time you want? This is our turf. If you want respect, take it.
Oh. This was just a dominance display. It had been so long since I'd been faced with a genuine challenge that I almost hadn't recognized it. I blinked and shook myself, settling fur that wasn't there, and handed the heavy backpack off to my mate. He accepted it with a nod and a wry grin, warming me inside with his confidence.
"My mate's methods are too lethal to be polite," I said. "You'll have to make do with me, instead. Love?"
I extended my left arm, and Charles disabled my bracelet with a swipe of his keys and tucked it into his pocket before moving back and out of the way. Around us, a hush fell as weres stopped whatever task they had been engaged with and gathered in a circle, attracted by the scents of aggression and dominance.
I sighed and let go of my human form with a sense of relief, letting my battle form surface. It had been a long, long time since I'd shifted with any real intent to fight; my credentials as a dominant bitch had been established for years. I bared my fangs in a grin.
"That 'un is a killer," a deep voice commented.
"Lookit those s
cars," someone squeaked. "Think the triplets finally bit off more than they can chew?"
"Everyone knows Upsiders are soft," another, even deeper voice answered. "You get that from killing a pink skin, and that ain't hard. Just means the bitch ain't quite right in the head."
Ignoring the commentary, I gave my adversaries a shallow dip of my muzzle. An introduction is proper, I signed. Who must I face in battle?
Thin Rat, Enforcer, the first one signed. I protect the warren.
Fast Rat, Enforcer, the second one signed. I search for enemies.
Hungry Rat, Enforcer, the third one, who had so far been silent, signed. My eyes are the warren's.
I acknowledged each with a dip of my head and bared teeth, showing them the dignity and respect that they had failed to exhibit. In the human world, that would be points for me for making them look rash and rude. I wasn't sure how it would measure in the city of rats, but the way the conversation of the crowd dwindled into silence pleased me.
I am Bloodstained-Guardian, werehunter's mate. I shield the weak, I signed, loving the glow of appreciation from my mate as I signed the words that summed up my essence. I find the missing and the lost. I sing with the current. I rend the Darkness with tooth and claw. I survive.
"That is a remarkably long name," a gentle and melodic female voice stated.
With startled squeaks, the three ratgirls turned and vanished into the crowd, which dispersed with many expressions of respect to the speaker. I watched them go with a feeling of vague disappointment. Wererats bowed or slammed fists to their chests before resuming whatever task they had been engaged in before the triplets' arrival.
The single rat that remained in the vicinity was a woman a bit taller than me in human form. She wore tight jeans and a plain white T-shirt. Her blond hair was cut very short and gelled into spikes. Gaunt cheeks and hard eyes suggested that the gentle sound of her voice was deceptive. The current whispered around her, letting me know that this lady was fully capable of working magic, and at a capacity far greater than mine.