Demon Guard

by Samantha Britt

  He stops in front of me and runs a hand over his hair to flatten any stray strands. “Hey,” he repeats.

  “Hey,” I return with nothing short of suspicion. “What do you want?” The question has more bite than I intend, but I’m still riding high on anger.

  “To introduce myself,” he says, holding out a hand. “I’m Peter.”

  I hesitate briefly before shaking it. “Aspen.”

  Peter drops my hand. “I also wanted to say that I think Instructor Jones is a prick. I agree with your explanation of lesser demons. It was the same answer I would’ve given.”

  His words make me stand a little straighter. “Thanks.”

  “No problem,” he smiles. “You seem smart… and sassy. We should sit next to each other in Modern Affairs. What do you say?”

  What can I say? I don’t want to be rude, especially not to someone who took the time to come tell me they agree with me.

  “Sure. Whatever.”

  Peter beams despite my somewhat-lame reply, contrasting greatly with the broody loner I’d pegged him as. “Awesome. Let’s go.” He surprises me further when he links our arms together and drags me towards the stairwell. “We can sit in the back. Master Jelani Osei has an accent, and he spits when he talks.”

  I can only nod my head as I try to keep pace with Peter’s long legs. I don’t know how, but it looks like I just made my second friend at St. Michael’s Academy.

  How in the world does this keep happening?

  Six

  Tuesday morning begins just like Monday. I wake up late, but I don’t let myself waste time in bed. I throw back my covers and rush to the communal bathroom. Not willing to go another day with unwashed hair, I quickly squeeze the designer shampoo into my hands and work it into my hair. I focus on my scalp, but I gather my long brown locks into a pile to make sure the ends also get cleaned. After I finish, I soap up my body. I dry off and change into my uniform, then I’m back at the dorm.

  Cortney is way too considerate and waits for me. I grab my bag, a granola bar and a bottle of water, and then we are out the door.

  We hustle across the courtyard, all too aware of the lack of students walking about. We take the stairs two at a time and burst onto the second floor. Cortney’s room is first.

  “See you at lunch,” she shouts before ducking inside. My bookbag flops up and down as I run the length of the long hall.

  I skid to a halt just as the instructor is seconds away from closing the classroom door. Startled brown eyes meet mine. “Cutting it close, aren’t you Miss Van der Klay?” My new instructor greets me.

  “Sorry, Sir. It won’t happen again.” I slide past him, careful not to touch his flowing robe.

  “See that you don’t,” he replies firmly, but a hint of amusement twinkles in his eye. Keeping my gaze down, I nod my head and turn to find my seat.

  Since I’m the last to arrive, there’s only one open spot. The tension in my body relaxes when I’m greeted by Peter Michael’s welcoming smirk. Once I’m settled, my newest friend leans forward and says, “For a second there, I thought you dropped out.”

  I roll my eyes even though he can’t see it from his spot behind me. “Yeah, right.” Like anyone drops out of St. Michael’s Academy. The only people who leave are those who are kicked out.

  “Well, good morning everyone. I am happy to finally have the chance to introduce myself to you. I’m Master Lawrence Donohue, and I will be your sigils instructor during your time at St. Michael’s Academy.”

  My eyebrows lift. Master? That makes two instructors who’ve earned the highest Guardian accolade. The modern affairs instructor, Jelani Osei, also holds the honor. But unlike Master Osei, Master Donohue isn’t old. I would put him in his early forties. What would possess a Master Guardian to settle for a teaching position at such a young age? Shouldn’t he be out running missions to rid the world of the worst demon offenders? That’s what I’d be doing if I were in charge. Earning the title of Master is something all Guardians aspire to, but very few achieve. I think I overheard Charles once say less than ten percent of all academy graduates eventually earn the coveted title and position. In the world.

  “Today, we will begin practicing how to draw the basic sigils that every Guardian needs to know before he or she faces a demon. With any luck, those of you who have reached maturity will be able to start drawing the sigils with your stylus. For those who aren’t eighteen… well… you must be content to practice with pen and paper until such a time comes when you can practice for real.”

  I slide down in my chair and glance around the room. I have no idea if I’m the only student who’s not eighteen. It’s not a big deal if I am, but it would be nice if I’m not. It would really suck to be the only one in the class not able to practice my magical ability.

  Master Donohue walks to the pristine whiteboard and begins drawing a sigil. I swing my bookbag into my lap and quickly take out a pencil and composition notebook. I may not be able to create real sigils until I turn eighteen this Fall, but I can make damned sure I have them all memorized and copied to perfection. My plan is to need little to no practice drawing the sigils with my stylus once I have my magic.

  Master Donohue finishes the first sigil, then draws three more before capping the black marker and facing the class. The sigils are similar in appearance, but closer inspection reveals the differences between them. An extra dot here. An X there. Their shape resembles a curvy W, but different scrolls or other markings distinguish them. I carefully copy the sigils into my notebook, each on their own page.

  “These are the four basic sigils a Guardian has in their arsenal. The first one enhances a Guardian’s strength. Demons are unnaturally strong, and no matter the combat skills or endurance training a Guardian receives, we would not be able to keep up with most of our enemies without the help of this particular sigil.”

  I turn to my first page of notes and write down an abbreviated version of what he says. Every novice knows sigils are used by a Guardian before battle. They’re kind of like tattoos, only not permanent.

  Before going on a mission, a Guardian will use their personal, magically charged stylus to draw sigils on their skin. Most go for their non-dominant forearm, but legs and stomachs work too. If a Guardian is bound to face a particularly nasty opponent, another Guardian can help by drawing more sigils on other parts of their partner’s body, like their back or dominant arm. The more sigils you have, the better protected you are. There are thousands of sigils, but no sigil can do everything. And with limited space on your body and limited time to draw the sigils, a Guardian must be able to choose which sigils are most important for the task at hand.

  “The second is for accelerated healing for physical injuries. The third is a resistance to demon venom. It does not make you immune, but the effects of the venom are delayed until a Guardian can, hopefully, seek medical attention.”

  I scribble furiously, determined to get all the information down.

  “And last, but certainly not least, is the beacon sigil. Should any Guardian be harmed to the brink of death, the beacon sigil will act as a sort of location device, if you will. All nearby Guardians will become aware of their colleagues fatal state, and any Guardian who senses such a signal is bound by the Shadowguard Code to lend aide to the fallen Guardian.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see a girl raise her hand. I don’t know her name, but that’s not really saying much. I don’t know most of my groupmates’ names.

  “Yes, Miss Fredericks?”

  The mousy redhead swallows the lump in her throat, nervous. I wonder if she’s remembering Instructor Jones and his less-than-cordial treatment of his students. Namely, me.

  The girl manages to choke out, “What if the injured Guardian is in such a condition that it’s nearly impossible for aiding Guardians to reach them? Without causing fatal injury to themselves, I mean.”

  I lean forward and rest my elbows on my desk, waiting for the master’s answer. Does the Shadowguard Code demand a Gua
rdian go on a suicide mission to aide their fallen colleague? Or are there certain circumstances where other Guardians are not required to act?

  “That is an excellent inquiry, Miss Fredericks,” Master Donohue returns with an approving smile. “Thank you for being the first one brave enough to ask a question.” He says it with a joking tone, and a few students chuckle softly, if not a little awkwardly.

  “The short answer is no, the council does not require Guardians to sacrifice themselves for a lost cause. That being said, most Guardians do not see a fallen comrade as a lost cause. We are loyal and dedicated to our noble task and to one another. Unless there is truly no way to aide our comrade, a Guardian will always respond to the beacon.”

  The sound of fabric rubbing against fabric reaches my ears as several students raise their hand.

  “Is that when a Guardian might use the suicide sigil?” Peter asks without being called on.

  I gasp, and I’m not the only one.

  None of us have extensive sigil training, but we all know about the controversial suicide sigil. It’s a powerful mark, and it does exactly what it sounds like. The mark is only placed on a Guardian embarking on dire missions. The sigil itself doesn’t initiate suicide. Like all the others, it wears away within twenty-four hours. But if a Guardian does find himself in a situation where escape is impossible and rescue seems futile, he or she has the option to initiate the magic in the suicide mark. They must press their stylus against the symbol and utter a series of words known only to themselves. That way, no one can force activation of the mark against a Guardian’s will.

  After the words are spoken and the stylus makes contact with the sigil, the magic is complete, and the Guardian dies.

  I’ve never heard of a Guardian using the suicide mark in recent history. Its use has always been controversial, but our dwindling population coupled with advancements in technology make all loss of life seem unnecessary. There’s always a way to rescue an endangered Guardian. Always.

  To his credit, Master Donohue remains composed. Unlike the rest of us, he’s not shocked by Peter’s question. “Mr. Michael, thank you for your question.” The instructor tucks his hands behind his back, concealing them in his robe’s wide sleeves, and begins walking the length of the room.

  “The suicide sigil, like all sigils, is a useful weapon in a Guardian’s arsenal. As you continue your education at this academy, each of you will gain access to the Shadowguard’s most coveted and precious secrets. This information is invaluable to help us fulfill our sacred mission: to protect mankind from evil.” Master Donohue makes eye contact with each of us. Though, unlike Instructor Jones, his gaze isn’t suspicious or intimidating.

  He continues, “As a Guardian, this will be your number one priority. Protect humans. Not to protect yourself. Not to protect your fellow Guardians. Humans must always come first. Their safety and future survival is in our hands.

  “And if, by the unfortunate work of fate, you find yourself in a situation where you are at risk of failing in your mission—if you are captured and are at risk of revealing the knowledge which enables us to successfully defeat our enemies, then… yes. That is when a suicide sigil should be enabled. Giving up your life for the sake of protecting others is the most noble and honored way a Guardian can move from this life to the great beyond, but every Guardian should try to avoid such a sacrifice by thoroughly strategizing and gathering more than sufficient intelligence before embarking on any mission.” Master Donohue stops pacing.

  Once again, he stands in front of the whiteboard. “Does that answer your question, Mr. Michael?”

  “Yes sir,” Peter replies. His voice is smaller than before.

  “Glad to hear it.” Without missing a beat, Master Donohue changes the subject. “Now, I would like each of you to master the drawing of these four basic sigils up here. I will walk around and inspect your work as you practice. Begin.”

  It takes a moment for me to pick up my pencil and do as he asks. My head is spinning after his elaborate speech. I’d always assumed a Guardian either completed their mission or they died at the hands of whatever demon they’d faced. I didn’t consider a Guardian might be captured and interrogated for information. I’d never thought of demons as anything except mindless, violent beasts. I’d never thought them capable of strategic actions.

  One thing is certain, I’d rather die than give demons anything they wanted. No question.

  Master Donohue doesn’t introduce any more sigils. We spend the next hour drawing and re-drawing the four he’s provided, and not a single one of us has been given approval for our attempts. The master finds a flaw, or several, in each of us. I’m starting to get frustrated. I’m tracing the sigil exactly as I see it, but I have too thick of a line here, or I extended the curl too long there. The errors are so small, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to draw a sigil to the picky professor’s standards. I want to rip my hair out.

  Five minutes are left in class when a knock sounds on the door. Master Donohue walks over and greets the newcomer. I watch as the instructor’s eyes swing to meet mine. He holds a piece of paper in his hands.

  “Miss Van der Klay.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “You’ve been summoned to the headmistress’s office. Gather your things.”

  I know I haven’t done anything wrong, but that doesn’t keep my heart from starting to race. I hesitate for only a second before I swiftly shove my composition notebook and pencil into my bookbag. I glance at Peter and he gives me a questioning look, but it’s softened with an encouraging smile. “See you at lunch.”

  Hopefully.

  I nod. “See you.”

  The rest of the class is quiet, but I feel their curious eyes. Everyone wants to know why the headmistress wants to see me. Myself, included.

  I reach Master Donohue. He hands me the paper with a kind smile. “I trust you know the way?” The note’s deliverer disappeared after discharging his task.

  “Yes,” I say.

  He nods. “Good. Have a good day, Miss Van der Klay. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

  I force myself to try and return his smile. It promptly wobbles off my lips. I duck out of the classroom. I wait until I hear the latch click to take a deep breath and run a nervous hand over my face.

  I’d always given the impression authority figures don’t intimidate me. It’s part of my badass image. But the truth is, I hate being in trouble. I avoid conflict at all costs just so I can avoid reprimand from everyone. Whether it’s teachers, principals, my foster parents… it doesn’t matter.

  Now, I’m about to face the authority figure who has complete control over whether or not my dream of becoming a Guardian is realized. I can’t help but feel nervous.

  Seven

  Despite telling Master Donohue I know how to get to the headmistress’s office, I wind up getting lost on my way. It’s not my fault. The one time I’d gone there had been with Vivian, and I’d been too nervous for the interview to pay attention to my surroundings.

  In addition to the small size of the building’s dorm rooms, another con to being so old is there aren’t directories like in other schools or office buildings to tell me where I need to go. I know the office is on the first floor, but there are dozens of unlabeled doors and several nondescript corridors.

  I’m walking down the third hallway on the first floor, glancing in every open door I pass, when the sound of voices reaches my ears. I walk that direction. Unless I plan to knock on every single door until I find Headmistress Meyer, I need to ask someone for directions.

  I peek in the open doorway and blink, unable to believe my luck. I’m ninety percent sure this is the antechamber where the headmistress’s secretary sits. Only, the desk is unoccupied. I glance down at my smartwatch and see it’s close to noon. Maybe the secretary is at lunch. Like I should be.

  Elevated voices trail out the door on the other side of the empty room, and I realize it’s an argument. The door to the headmistress’s office isn’
t wide open, but a three-inch gap lets me glimpse a tall form pacing back and forth. Hints of a heated discussion continue to reach me, and I’m torn. Do I go into the antechamber to wait? Or should I wait in the hall?

  “I’m telling you, Meyer, I need to be out there with the others. This is the third Guardian missing in just as many weeks. Hendricks is investigating with Lowe and Mathers. Let me join them.”

  My interest piques. I step into the antechamber to hear more. I move quietly and reach the plush couch in the center of the room and sit down.

  I hear the sound of a papers being shuffled. “I understand your eagerness, I do. But your assignment is not up to me. Besides, the council has recalled Hendricks and his companions. They will be here soon.” I lean forward on the couch. That’s the second time she’s mentioned my unfamiliar mentor. He’s out on a mission, but he’s being called back? Does the council really call Guardians away from missions to mentor students? I can’t imagine any active Guardian is happy with that arrangement.

  “But they shouldn’t come here,” the stranger protests. “Not after what happened to Adams.”

  “Your concern is warranted, Guardian Legrand, but you know there is nothing we can do. The council is in charge of Guardians’ assignments. I’m sure they have others investigating Adams’ disappearance.” A chair scoots back and heels click against the floor. “Now, if you will forgive me, I have an appointment waiting.”

  The office door swings open, and I’m stunned when I recognize the stranger pacing the headmistress’s office.

  Andrew Legrand, Lex’s mentor, stalks out wearing a frown. I should’ve made the connection when Headmistress Meyer addressed him by name. The twenty-two-year-old mentor and I are not well acquainted, but I’d met him the few times he visited the Van der Klay’s home. My foster parents often host events. I’ve met many notable members of the Shadowguard community that way.