by Alix Marsh
The next moment, the statue unfurled, slowly, steadily, like liquid stretching upright and just as mesmerising. The head lifted, sliced their way— A scream rent the cavernous room, his or Jack’s, he couldn’t tell…every nerve in his body was screaming even louder for him to take flight on legs instantly as squishy as marshmallows.
Flynn wasn’t the first one to scramble down the hole out of there, but he did give Jack a helpful shove when he took longer than Flynn felt he ought to. At the last second, Flynn remembered Ice.
One leg dangling over the edge of the hole, he looked back. She was hovering by the wall, her gaze still fixed on the centre of the room.
“Ice!”
Her eyes snapped to him, wide and startled, as if surprised to see him there. She recovered with a shudder. “I’m right behind you.”
But she wasn’t.
She was fumbling behind her.
Flynn yelled a curse, the type of word his mom would probably strike him dead for…if that thing didn’t do it first. His blood thumped violently, bumping through his veins and jolting those screaming nerve endings.
“What are you doing?” he cried hoarsely. “Will you come on!”
“I just have to…”
The lights flickered off and the sound of her running at him sent him over the edge with a shaky sigh of relief. He ducked low, sprinting on bended knees and didn’t stop, not even when he hit his head on the bottom of an aluminium shelf on the way out, until he’d reached the top of the Bunker steps and collided with Jack. He was totally out of breath and not from the short sprint (he wasn’t that unfit.)
Jack had been knocked off his feet and decided to stay down, wrapping his arms around his knees. The light spilling from the Bunker cast shadows on his already grim expression. He was also panting hard, but seemed to be controlling it with increasingly longer, deeper breaths.
Now that they were up here, and that thing was down there, Flynn forced himself to do the same.
“Blimey,” Jack called out angrily as Ice joined them. “You might have warned us about the demon.”
“You’d have been too chicken scared to come if I’d said anything and thanks for the help with the grating, by the way.”
“Demon?” Flynn gulped, his panic returning full-throttle.
“A Shadow demon in its true form,” Ice said, too enthusiastically to be in her right mind. She turned to him. “You did see it, didn’t you?”
“No,” he said snarkily. “I just had a spontaneous mini heart attack for the fun of it.”
“That was awesome.” She sank to the ground beside Jack. “I saw it!”
“Bit difficult to miss,” Jack said, still grumpy. “And how would you know what a Shadow demon looks like anyway??”
“You’d know, too, if you used our free study periods to—and here’s a shocker—study demons instead of doodling in your diary.”
“I want to learn to kill demons, not research their habits so I can make small talk with the bludders.”
“What are you doing?” Flynn glared at them, sitting around like that, as if there wasn’t a demon a stone’s throw away. “Why on earth would they keep a demon here? Is everyone crazy? Did you see how far apart those bars were and that thing—that demon is as thin as a plank.”
“Relax, Flynn, we’re perfectly safe,” Ice said.
“The bars aren’t keeping the demon inside,” Jack said. “Didn’t you see the demon trap?”
“It would have to be a reverse demon trap, though, wouldn’t it?” Ice mused.
“A reverse trap? What would that even do? Set the demon free?” Flynn said, his voice rising. “Well, why not? What’s wrong with this school?”
“No, you idiot,” Jack said, not quite successful in suppressing a chuckle. “The school grounds are protected from demons with very powerful wards.”
“Those runes must break the wards…create a bubble in which to keep that demon here. Don’t worry,” she said to Flynn. “His energy would bounce off the edges of the broken wards as if they were a solid silver wall. He’s completely harmless inside the trap.”
“Runes?” Flynn said, his mind racing. He wasn’t completely dense, even if he felt it. “The drawings on the floor and ceiling.”
This time, Ice couldn’t keep the amusement out of her voice either. “Yes, the pretty drawings.”
The last few minutes of fear and panic and shock washed over him. Didn’t help that he’d been the only one freaked out of his skull. The only one who didn’t know about the wards, the runes, the scary but apparently harmless demon, about anything at all.
“I’m such a joke,” he said bitterly, dropping cross-legged to the ground.
“Don’t be daft,” Jack said.
“Tell that to Arran!”
“Arran Marshall?” Ice said, sounding ever so slightly breathless. “He’d never—”
“He laughed his head off when I asked if the electrified perimeter fence keeps the demons out,” Flynn said, wincing at the memory. “Very funny stuff, me not knowing about runes and wards.”
“Plus,” Jack added unhelpfully, “an electrified fence wouldn’t do anything to a demon, except maybe give it a bit of a tickle.”
“I’m sure Arran didn’t mean to laugh,” Ice persisted.
“What are you, like, his number one fan?” Jack said.
“Of course not,” she huffed, then, in a small voice, “I’m just saying.”
Jack snorted. “And I’m just saying… Arran Marshall is a git head for laughing at Flynn.”
An assessment Flynn wouldn’t argue with.
Ice jumped up. “We should get going or we’ll be late.”
“Late for what?” Flynn asked.
“Mrs. Avery only has three deal-breaker rules,” Jack told him. “The first one is, the doors lock at nine pm. If you’re not inside by then, you’ll want to sleep under a bush rather than ring the doorbell.”
Ice muttered something about straightening up the mess they’d made and hurried back inside the Bunker.
It wasn’t long before the clanging, thumping sounds reached them.
Flynn sighed. He really had no wish to get any closer to the demon than he already was. “You don’t suppose we should…?”
“Nah, I’m sure she’ll understand we’re too chicken scared to go back down there.” Jack leant back on his hands and stretched his legs out. “So, what do you think of our Ice?”
Flynn thought many things of her, but he could also truthfully say, “She’s a little scary.”
A long silence (if they ignored what was going on below) stretched, then Jack said, “None of her family wanted her to take the pledge, you know? She’s the baby and the only girl…her mother died when she was three…a Blisterback demon, apparently.”
Flynn frowned. “Was her mother a slayer?”
Jack shook his head. “Crazy, right? You’d think her dad would want her to be able to protect herself in a way her mother never could, right? Anyway, so she’s spent ages, years from the sound of it, trying to prove herself to them, to show them how tough and brave she is. The thing is, I don’t think she’s realised yet that she did it, she’s here, she doesn’t have anything to prove anymore.”
More silence.
Flynn got a horrible, sinking feeling in his stomach. “Arran Marshall might be a git, but we’re giant prats.” He pushed to his feet. “Come on.”
With the three of them working at it, the Bunker was quickly restored to a passable state, the iron slab closed and padlocked, and they were sprinting through the overgrown trails in a mad dash to get back in time before the doors locked them out.
This time, however, the fronds and branches smacking Flynn didn’t come to life and try to attack him. His nightmare came in a very poor second to the demon he’d just faced, harmlessly trapped or otherwise.
THE NEXT MORNING, FLYNN awoke with a silly grin on his face. No nightmare, which was worth grinning about, but that was just a bonus.
He was a demon slayer.
He, Flynn Heath, was a slayer of demons.
Maybe it was facing that demon last night and still being here to tell the tale. Maybe the Touch of Zeus was starting to work on him. Whatever, he was finally feeling the excitement.
And, he thought, his grin spreading even wider as he kicked off the duvet and climbed out of bed, he now went to a demon slayer school. Come on! A demon slayer school! While everyone else back home was stuck with English and Geography and History (his worst ever subject) he’d be learning sword fighting, dagger throwing and other cool things he couldn’t begin to imagine.
Jack was still snoring in the bed by the window, so Flynn slipped into the bathroom they shared, thinking he’d wake Jack when he was done. He examined his jaw in the mirror above the basin while he brushed his teeth, pleased to see there was no mark. It wasn’t even the slightest bit tender anymore. And then an awful, piercing screech gave him such a startle, he jabbed the toothbrush right into the back of his cheek.
He hurried to open the door, in time to see Jack flapping around for his phone on the beside table.
As soon as he’d rinsed, Flynn marched out the bathroom. “A screeching cat?” he said as he crossed to the wardrobe to change into a pair of black school trousers and white shirt. “Seriously?”
Jack grinned at him. “Effective, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, well, you might want to turn the volume down a little.”
“Right, sorry.” He grabbed his phone again. “Not used to sharing.”
“How long have you been here, then?”
“Since just before Christmas,” Jack said on his way to the bathroom.
Flynn left his top button open and his tie hanging loose while he shrugged into his blazer. His eyes landed on the pile of T-shirts and, after a small hesitation, he retrieved his swich. He looked down at his black school shoes; that was no help. And he didn’t fancy spending the day avoiding a fatal stabbing from his blazer pocket. In the end, he slid his swich into the bottom of his schoolbag, which felt like a very odd thing to do, slayer or not.
He checked carefully when Jack was dressing, but of course he had boots, into which he slid his swich. He seriously had to find out where Jack and Ice shopped.
Flynn and Jack went downstairs together. Breakfast was the only meal taken at the house and Ice was already there, munching on a slice of toast. There were loads of other students, too, about fifteen, leaning against the counter or sitting at the oak table as they ate. The chatter died down, all eyes on Flynn as he followed Jack to the spread set out for breakfast.
Pretending not to notice (surely they were used to seeing new faces, what with the staggered intake) Flynn dished a bowl of hot oats and covered it with a generous dollop of syrup.
“What’s with everyone?” he murmured to Jack, who was piling a plate with croissants and small jam tubs.
Before Jack could say anything, a red-headed boy with a thin face and sharp nose entered the kitchen and walked straight up to him.
“Flynn?” he said. “I’m Charlie Bracken, student head. Sorry I couldn’t be here to greet you last night… I was up in London, an appointment I couldn’t get out of… well, yes, anyway, everything alright? You’ve got everything you need?”
Flynn nodded. “Um, yeah, hello.”
“Excellent.” He clapped his hands once, loudly, as he turned to face everyone. “Listen up. As you’ve all no doubt heard, we’ve got a new chap, Flynn Heath, I’m sure you’ll make him welcome.”
A host of greetings were shouted out, and then…
“Was it someone you knew or a long lost relative you’d never met before?”
“What did they say to win you over?”
“Weren’t you scared?” That from a pale, freckle-faced girl who didn’t look much older than him. “I don’t know if I could—”
“How did your pledge go, Tamara?” Charlie shot back at the girl.
She blushed a bright pink.
“And you, Sloane, blasted off your feet, were you? Or maybe it was just a prickle along your spine.” The room had fallen silent as Charlie spoke. “Alright guys, you know better than to pry into something as personal as a pledge. Give Flynn some slack, okay?”
Flynn wasn’t sure if Charlie had just helped him or not, but he was grateful when everyone’s attention returned to their breakfast. When some spaces cleared at the table, Ice waved them over. She was sitting next to a petite blonde whom she introduced as a second year girl called Fiona Cairnie.
Fiona gave Flynn a dimpled smile. “Well, Flynn, I don’t care if you’re cold or steaming hot, it’s just great to have you. I was starting to think we’d be down to two first years and that’s the worst intake we’ve ever had.”
“Don’t forget Jason Forgue,” Ice said between bites of toast. “He’s due second week of July.”
“Maybe not.”
“What?” exploded Jack and Ice together, turning heads in their direction.
Flynn had scraped his bowl clean and was still starving, thanks to the very late Sunday lunch / very early dinner. His gaze wandered to the breakfast spread, less interested in Jason Forgue than deciding whether he should have a croissant, which he didn’t really like, or bother himself making toast.
Fiona shrugged. “There’s been rumblings that he’s undecided about pledging.”
“But both his parents are slayers,” Ice said. “Apparently they put his name down for Victor Grey when he turned eleven.”
“Yeah, well, maybe that was just wishful thinking on their part.”
The conversation seemed to have put Ice in a foul mood. “Come on, we’d better get going. It’s a fifteen minute walk to English.”
Jack checked his watch. “We still have—” The scowl on Ice’s face cut him short. He stood, waving Flynn along.
English? Flynn grabbed his schoolbag from where he’d strung it over the back of his chair, digging through the starter pack he’d shoved in on the way downstairs. Aha, he found a glossy sheet that had a whole lot of squiggles on one side titled ‘First Year Map’ and their timetable on the other side. He swung his bag over one shoulder, pinched a croissant from Jack’s abandoned plate and hurried after them, along a dark passage hung with portraits he didn’t stop to examine and out through the arched front doors that had been thrown open.
Once he’d caught up to Jack and Ice, he slowed down in single file behind them on the narrow path that led from the courtyard, his high spirits from earlier plummeting as he scanned the bland timetable.
“This is rubbish,” he muttered. Nothing remotely resembling ‘A Beginner’s Guide to Slaying’ or ‘An Elementary Study of Demons’ or whatever.
“I’ll say,” Ice said stormily. “How dare Jason Forgue just decide he might not stir himself to pledge? Utterly ridiculous. Do you know? Perses has eight first years and Hellys has six.” She glared at Flynn over her shoulder, as if it might all be his fault. “And I heard Thomas Green boasting Perses is expecting another three admissions before the end of the year.”
“What’s wrong with Atreus House, then?” said Flynn, wondering if he’d ended up in the dud house. “How come so few people choose to pledge to Atreus?”
“You don’t get to pick and choose,” Ice said. “You’re aligned to one of the three houses through your blood.”
The trail from Atreus House had brought them onto the wider path Flynn recalled from last night, paved with massive stone slabs. It appeared to be circular, but curved so gradually, it stretched long and clear in front of them. Ahead, he saw more kids walking in groups of three and four.
“We’re descended from Atreus,” Jack said.
“But we do seem to be shrinking faster than the rest,” Ice muttered. “No surprise there, when we’ve got good-for-nothings like Jason Forgue in our family tree.”
“So, we’re all, like…” Flynn glanced across from Jack to Ice. “…related?”
“That would be a no,” Jack said. “No more than the whole world would be related if we all originated
from Adam and Eve.”
“Atreus was one of the original slayers,” explained Ice. “Touched by Zeus two and a half thousand years ago. Hundreds of years before that, Zeus fathered Deimonys, the first and most powerful demon.”
“Zeus, as in the god of lightening and thunder,” Flynn said doubtfully, “is the father of all demons?”
“His biggest mistake,” Jack said.
Ice smirked. “Zeus had a habit of consorting with human females, littering the earth with half-mortal children that, more often than not, turned out to be monsters. He didn’t care much, until Deimonys…”
Jack picked up with, “Zeus fell in love with a High Priestess, Ambriosa… human, but she practiced ancient, dark magic and they say she’d almost achieved immortal status…”
“The result of that love was Deimonys…incredibly powerful, twisted, evil, and worse…immortal.” Ice gave him a sharp look. “As in, un-killable. For centuries, Deimonys held the world in a dark, deathly grip. He created an army of lower level demons by sharing his essence in a ceremony we call the Cursed Kiss, and they in turn spread and created the next lower tier of demons, and so forth, each tier weaker, but mere mortals were still no match for them.”
“Finally, Zeus set aside the god’s policy of not interfering in human affairs—”
“I’d have thought he’d set that policy aside during the whole consorting with human women thing,” Flynn said, his mind boggled by what he was hearing.
“Yeah, the gods are funny that way,” said Jack. “They’ll happily cause mayhem across the planet, but suddenly remember the rules when it comes to cleaning up after themselves. Some versions of history suggest Zeus was scared of Deimonys, the only of his offspring to be truly immortal, which is why he decided to step in.”