I've been sitting on this for years, and I've finally worked up the nerve to post it. This isn't my best work, but I will try my upmost to finish it. What happens? You'll just have to wait and see. Rating may go up in the future, but we'll see.

It was the first dawn of the summer term at Christshire Collage, and though the majority of the school's population still slept, there was a soft light coming from a window on the first floor of the student apartments. The window was small, no more than an inch across to a human, but it was just the right size for the room of a mouse.

The light came from a large candle resting on a small round table that sat next to the window seat, and resting on the dark, floral cushions, was Basil Sherringford. The lad was a young first year, no more than fifteen, and he sat partially curled up with a thin brown book resting in his lap.

He was a handsome young man, his fur smooth and golden-brown. His eyes were dark green, but they were no more than narrow slits under his lids as he gazed at the words before him with a bored expression on his face. In his mouth was the tip of a pipe, from which faintly fragrant smoke emerged as a twisting, curling stream. Every few minutes he would push a slender hand through his hair, which fell in a neat fringe across his brow. He had gotten no sleep the night before.

He had hopelessly tried, tossing and turning in his bed for hours, until he had finally given up, changed out of his night clothes, and had taken a seat in front of the window. He now wore a white shirt, its cuffless sleeves ending just above his wrists, a cornflower blue vest, and long black pants. Around his neck was a high, white Eton collar, held in place by a dark blue tie that was neatly tucked into his shirt's collar. On his feet were black and white shoes that were new and clean.

Basil was very quiet, he hadn't uttered so much as a single word the day before, which he had spent preparing for the start of the term. Not that he intended to stay very long. Naturally brilliant, he'd had his pick of scholarships, and he had told his father that he would only go until it had run out. The one he had chosen would get him through two years of Christshire, and he planned to leave the campus permanently after that.

His family was quite wealthy, and though his father had all but demanded that he remain there for all four years, Basil wouldn't change his mind. Charlette, his mother, said that although he was a polite enough lad, he could be quite stubborn at times. Basil had simply shrugged, and had gone on with his packing. When he'd heard his bedroom door click shut, he'd whispered, "I've made up my mind, and nothing you say will cause me to change it." Unknowingly, he had placed her lavender scented handkerchief into his suitcase, and had boarded his train just a half hour later.

The handkerchief was in his pocket now, the only physical piece of home he had with him. He took it out and unfolded it, giving it a quick sniff. Basil could smell his mother's tears beneath the perfume, and he ran his fingers over the two letters she had embroidered into the pale cloth. "C.S." Charlette Sherringford.

Surprisingly, he felt no homesickness. No longing for his own bed, no sadness at all. His family seemed to be frightened of his intelligence; Basil knew for a fact that his brother, Charles, considered him a freakish oddity, though he never said so.

"How can you be so sure of my thoughts?" Charles had asked him once. He had rolled his eyes and sighed once before explaining.

"Hasn't it become clear to you? I can tell just by the way you act around me. I'm no more of an oddity than you are; I know who I am, and it doesn't matter what you think of me." Basil had gotten to his feet before he had finished speaking, and the door had slammed shut behind him. The air in his lungs had turned thick with anger; and it was suffocating.

He remembered quickly climbing the steps to his room, bitter, unexplained tears blurring his eyes…no, that wasn't quite right. Those tears did have an explanation, and they had reeked of hatred; hatred and betrayal. He had often considered his brilliant mind to be a gift, but that one time, he had regarded it as nothing more than just a loathsome curse; and one he would have to deal with for the rest of his life.

Suddenly, the young mouse shook his head violently, glaring almost hatefully at his reflection in the glass. That was then and this is now, he reminded himself, slamming his book shut. He got to his feet, fighting to keep his emotions under control. He knew exactly what would happen if he allowed himself to become too enraged, and he never wanted to have that experience again.

He rushed to the door, pausing only to snatch up his book bag, which hung from a small hook in the wall. He slung the strap over his shoulder, adjusting it until the bag itself hung over on his hip. One day down, and only two years to go. Basil allowed himself to smile at the slightly ironic thought. What made it ironic though was something he couldn't figure out.

The sunlight was a welcome surprise after spending several hours reading be candle flame, and he took a moment to bask in it. It felt so nice, standing alone on a small, grassy hill, letting the sun warm his fur with a soft breeze blowing through his hair. He turned and saw a group of girls heading for the female-only collages on the Oxford campus. They were looking at him, pointing and whispering excitedly to one another. Basil was too far away to catch what it was they were saying, but he knew that the red in their cheeks was more than just make-up; they were blushing.

He gave them a quick smile before turning and continuing on his way, though his face was burning. He couldn't help the annoyed sigh that escaped his lips as he neared Christshire, and he shook his head as he tried to clear the image of the girls' embarrassed faces from his mind. He should have seen this coming.

It was only the first day, and already everyone was greatly curious about the dashing and slightly mysterious first-year that had entered their grounds. He just hoped it would wear off soon.

He had almost reached the end of the path when something in the bushes caught his eye. It was a flash of tan showing through the leaves, and it appeared not to belong there.

"Hm, how very odd," Basil whispered to himself. He hardly ever spoke out loud. School momentarily forgotten, he decided to take a closer look. But, when he parted the dark green branches, what he saw shocked him so he nearly cried out.

He let out a startled gasp, falling backwards onto his tail. Eyes wide, he sat there in the grass, his shoulders shaking fearfully. It wasn't too long before someone saw him and came over to see what had happened.

Basil felt a thick hand rest itself on his shoulder, and his fear instantly vanished. "Are you alright?"

"Charles?" he asked, turning to see his brother's face. "What are doing here?"

"Father thought it was time I started collage, but what about you? You look as though you've seen a ghost."

"Not quite, brother," Basil lifted a hand, pointing at the bushes. "But I do believe that there is a killer in our midst."

Charles got to his feet, brushed the grass from his knees, going over to see what could have given his brother such a fright.

"Oh my…" what he saw was utterly shocking.

Lying on the ground was the body of a young woman. She wore a tattered dress, and her tan fur was spattered with spots of blood. Her hair hung over her shoulders, black as night. Her blue eyes were open and full of terror.

Basil stood, brushing off the seat of his pants. He came to stand beside his brother. He made another path through the leaves and knelt down beside her body.

He touched her neck, then her wrist, checking for a pulse. There was none. "She hasn't been dead very long."

"How can you tell?" he heard his brother kneel beside him.

"The blood is still fresh," he held up his hand. Liquid red oozed down from his fingertips.

"Who would have done something like this?"

Basil didn't the question, as he was too preoccupied with examining the body.

He could tell from the position that she had fallen after the blow had been inflicted, and there was one thing that told him exactly what it was that had killed her.

The hair covering her upper back was drenched with blood. He lifted the sticky mass and saw what he was looking for. A small hole where the blood emitted from and the bullet had traveled right through her heart.

He lifted the body with one hand, searching through the red-stained grass with the other. In a few minutes, his fingers connected with a small piece of metal; the bullet. In later years, Basil would be able to tell what kind of gun it had been just by seeing the shape of the bullet, but not now.

"I've never seen anything like this before," he murmured, examining the warm metal that now rested in his palm. His brother looked over his shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of the weapon in question.

"What is that?" he asked, running a hand through his short, glossy black hair. All Basil could do was shrug and get to his feet.

"We should tell someone about this. We can't just ignore it."

Charles straightened. "Are we going to do something about it?"

He seemed startled about the grin that was slowly spreading across his brother's face. "We are, but not how you think."

Charles watched, astonished, as the lad dashed off, going in the direction of the labs.

How do I get myself into these things? He shook his head, bolting after his younger sibling.

What neither of them knew, however, was that they were both about to go in way over their heads.

By the time he had found his brother, Basil was hard at work with a microscope, trying to get a closer look at the bullet in his hand. What he had already discovered was less than cheerful. It was from a type of gun no one had ever heard of before, let alone seen. This was going to much trickier than he had thought.

Charles was about to go up to him, when he saw how content his brother looking among the lab equipment. His eyes were centered down over the tool's eyepiece, and there was the slightest hint of a grin tugging at the edges of his lips. He'd always known that Basil was in to detective work, and how often he used his head, instead of his hands, to solve his problems.

"Don't tell me you're actually enjoying this," he said incredulously, standing in the doorway. It was quiet for so long that he didn't think Basil was going to reply, but then the young mouse drew himself up to his full height.

"In a way," he said quietly, taking the bloody metal into his hand again. There had been an odd pattern along the edge, almost like the points of a crown. What could that mean? Then something suddenly struck him; a forgotten memory of his childhood. He had found a bullet like this while walking along the street with his mother, and had discreetly slipped it into his pocket.

Later, he had examined it through his father's old microscope' it'd had the same exact pattern. "Most intriguing."

"What?" Charles still stood in the door.

Basil shook his head, then looked at him. His eyes were slightly dazed. "I've seen something like this before," he started to head for another door. "I'll be back momentarily." And with that, he was gone.

Charles stared at his brother's point of exit, then gave an unsure shrug. Whatever was going on, it seemed that Basil was determined to solve it. He decided to wait and see if his brother needed his help when returned.

But Basil never came back. The sun had passed its noon point, and still no sign of him. Growing worried, he decided to go searching for him. Basil didn't really know his way around the campus yet, but there were maps all over the place, so getting lost couldn't possibly have been his reason for disappearing. Maybe he had found someone else who needed his help. Basil was a very kind and caring person, though the young mouse did his upmost best at hiding it. He would gladly assist anyone who needed it.

The next option made him laugh a bit. Maybe a few of the female students had snatched him up. He'd been able to hear what that group of women had been whispering about him earlier that morning. They had been calling him dashing and mysterious and had blushed furiously when he'd given him a quick smile before turning away.

Women, he thought, shaking his head.

But the last option caused a cold shiver to run through him. What if the killer had found their next victim? He didn't want to even consider that, but the image ran through his mind nonetheless. The image of Basil lying in the grass. Dead with a bullet in his heart. Charles shook his head and picked up his pace, nearly running. In a few minutes he came to the door of Basil's apartment. He took a second to catch his breath, then placed the tips of his fingers on the wooden surface. It yielded easily. Too easily. He opened it fully, and stepped into chaos.

The room beyond seemed to have been ransacked. Furniture had been tossed around, the curtains ripped, and Basil was absolutely nowhere to be found.

"Basil?" he took another step into the mess. "Basil!"

Then, he heard what sounded like muffled grunting coming from the bedroom. The red-painted door was slightly ajar, and the room behind it had suffered the same treatment as the living door, and it was here that Charles found his brother.

Basil was on his knees in a corner, his ankles and wrists tied behind him. There was a gag over his mouth, and his dark green eyes were now wide and full of terror. He seemed to be both panting and groaning as he tried to break the ropes that held him.

"Basil!" Charles cried, dashing over to him. The youth looked up, and his eyes opened even more as he frantically shook his head.

"No, no! Stay back!" his frenzied sounds seemed to say. A dark shadow came out from behind the door, a sinister shape much larger than a mouse, and it was coming up behind an unsuspecting creature. Closer, closer, silently it crept until it was right behind him. Slowly, it pulled a strange object from its cape, then lifted its hand.

The last thing that Charles saw was the gagged, utterly terrified face of his younger brother. Then the shape turned to Basil, and everything exploded in darkness.

Basil shot up. He didn't know how long had passed, and for a second felt as though he had woken up from a bad dream. Then, the reality of the past day's events resurfaced in his mind.

He tried to cry out, but remembered that he had been gagged. Looking around, he saw that night had fallen outside, and that the full moon was sending its silver light through the window; highlighting an object on the floor. Just the mere sight of it filled him with rage, the same he had felt only once before. His eyes burned with fury, and they narrowed into cruel slits. His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He strained at the ropes, eyes now squeezed shut. Under the gag, he bared sharp white teeth.

When his bonds finally snapped, Basil reached up and tore the white cloth from his mouth. Throwing it to the floor, he began to breathe heavily as he struggled to regain his composure. He dropped back to his knees, burying his face in his hands, shaking with bitter suppressed sobs.

The red fog cleared, he lifted his eyes until he gazed upon what had caused that much hated degree of rage. It was a small dagger, and the blade was covered in dark, dry blood. The killer had struck again. Tears formed in his eyes, but he had no time to mourn. He had to find this heartless creature, and make sure that this was the last night they would spend on earth. Even if he ended up dead in the process.

Meanwhile, in a seedy pub near the waterfront, a pair of brown eyes opened. They looked around, but nothing could be seen. Charles tried to lift his hand, and discovered that he had been bound like his brother. Only, unlike Basil, he couldn't rely on anger to save him. There was a sharp pain in his head, and he could feel the dried blood in the space between his ears.

Where am I? He thought, blinking into the darkness. The black space felt like his heart: no rays of light, no spark of hope. Basil, please let him still be alive. He prayed with all his soul that his baby brother was alright. What if the killer had turned on him? Who's to say they weren't both dead? He dared not even imagine the fate that had befallen Basil; dared not even begin to hope. With tears staining his cheeks, the young Sherringford slipped back into unconsciousness.

But Basil wasn't dead. He slipped quickly through the sleeping London night, making almost no sound. Sliding through the wet grass, he came upon a tiny door in a small tree. He lifted his hand, but something crashed into him before he could knock, sending them both to the ground.

"Oh! I beg your pardon sir," a high voice said worriedly.

Basil felt a slender hand take his arm. "It's quite alright," he began, but stopped when he found him gazing into a pair of dark brown eyes.

The young woman smiled, seeing that he wasn't hurt, then pulled a pale blue handkerchief and began wiping the mud from her face. When she had finished, Basil was able to get a good look at her. Her eyes were dark brown, her fur beige, and her hair was cut short. She wore a dark green bow on her left ear.

Her figure was slender, wrapped in a blue dress that ended just below her ankles. Suddenly he realized he was staring, and quickly shook his head. Blushing, he cleared his throat. "Are you alright, miss-?"

"Flaversham. Olivia Flaversham. And who might you be, sir?"

"Basil Sherringford, my good lady."

"Basil, hm, I feel as though I've heard that name before…"

He felt himself blush again. "If you've been near Christshire," he began, running an embarrassed hand through his hair. "Then you most likely have."

Olivia let a small giggle slip from her throat. "Oh, that's right, now I remember! You're that first-year my friends were talking about this morning."

Basil made an irritated sound, though he did his best to conceal it. "And what of your name?" he asked. "You don't sound as though you come from London."

"Oh, no, I don't. I'm from Scotland." It was her turn to blush.

Then, something struck him. "Where were you off to in such a hurry?"

For a moment, her brown eyes gleamed, as if she were going to cry, but then she cleared her throat and the tears subsided. "I was going for help. I found Elenor, my best friend, in the bushes; not too far from Christshire."

More tears came, and this time she couldn't hold them back. "From the looks of it, she was killed near dawn." Olivia buried her face in her hands as a quiet sob escaped her throat. He pulled out his mother's handkerchief, coming to stand in front of her. He clasped a gentle hand on her wrist, causing her to look up. He then began to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "It's alright," he whispered soothingly, unknowingly putting an arm around her. "We'll find the people responsible for this. They may even be the same ones who took my brother."

She actually laughed a bit. "Is that why you were sneaking around?"

He lifted an eyebrow, a sly grin creeping onto his face. "Why were you running through the dark?" he asked. "And alone?"

Olivia gave him a half-serious scowl. "Why are you alone in such conditions?" she questioned. "You don't know what could be out there this time of night."

"Well, I'm not alone now, am I?" he couldn't quite suppress the catch in his voice, but Olivia appeared not to have noticed. She was too busy giggling. "What's so funny?" he asked, releasing his hold on her.

"I feel like something's tickling me," she gave him a look, but he showed her that his hands were clasped behind him. She then looked down, and realized that it was just a piece of grass the wind was brushing against her ankle. As she lifted her head to face him again, there was a faint rustle behind her, as if something were coming out of the bushes.

"Olivia?" came a voice. It was female, and also carried traces of a Scottish tongue.

"Mother!" Olivia said excitedly, bolting to the shrubs. Out came another mouse. She was much older than Olivia, but just as beautiful, with the same chocolate brown eyes. "Did you find him?"

"No, I'm afraid that I couldn't find any trace of him."

She gasped. "Oh great, first my best friend is murdered, and now my father's vanished." She nearly collapsed. "What else could possibly happen?"

Basil came up behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder. She suddenly turned to him, burying her sobbing face in his chest. Blushing, he gently put his arms around her, slowly stroking her tan head. "Don't worry," he whispered. He pulled away slightly, his eyes meeting hers. "I'll find out who did this. I promise."

She nodded, but the tears still fell.