He stood on a circle of smooth stone. Symbols covered it and its perimeter. Uncle Winter ruffled his feathers.

“Where are we?” Lawrence looked around. A cluster of squat cylinders and low buildings made up the available space. The sky was solid rock, not covered with stalactites as one would expect, but smooth. The ceiling was smooth, the ground was smooth. Not because someone had ground all the pointy bits off; Lawrence was of a mind there had never been pointy bits to start. For a cave formation, it was bizarre. As for the buildings, Lawrence noted every building bore scorch marks.

“Oh my.” Lawrence’s words failed. A woman with long red hair stood outside the circle. She was white and had blue eyes, and curves. Lots of curves, with an impressive chest. She wore an impractical adventuring outfit of boots, shorts, a midriff-baring shirt, and a leather vest. Her colors were earth tones, all browns and greens. She must have rolled high on charisma at birth, because she had supermodel beauty.

“Hullo, boss.”

“Hello Lily.” Winter marched toward the stairs. “Doctor, this is Lily, my heir. Lily this is Doctor, my nephew and apprentice.”

“Hello, Doctor.” Lily’s expression changed. She waved. “It’s nice to meet you. Shall we?” she gestured at Winter’s back.

Lawrence fell into step beside her.

“The name of the school is Nimue’s Tower.” Winter paused at the top of the steps. “Lily, I must see the other masters. Take Doctor to the dining hall to meet the other students. When introductions are complete, show him to his room. Doctor, class begins at dawn.”

Winter spread his great wings. He flapped once and glided down, off the plaza. Lawrence realized it wasn’t a plaza at all but the roof of a tower. Winter glided to a series of houses set against the cave’s wall. He opened the door of the nicest one and disappeared inside.

“Come on, Doctor. Follow me.” Lily descended the steps without looking over her shoulder.

“Miss Lily,” Lawrence called. He hurried to catch up. “I really hate being called by my first name.”

“Well, I hate—” she stopped, catching herself. “I hate not having any alcohol.”

The next floor down contained another summoning circle. Multiple holes in the wall provided some light and air flow, but most of the light came from hundreds of burning candles. Lily circled the perimeter of the room, careful to avoid the symbols in middle. She led Lawrence below to the next floor, which was a close duplicate with fewer symbols. The ground floor was another duplicate, but the symbols here were even less.

Towards the bottom, Lily pushed the door open. She motioned for Lawrence pass first.

“Watch your step,” she said.

“Thank you—ahh,” Lawrence yelped. He assumed Lily held the door open for him and tried to pass through. She tried to walk through at almost the same time. They collided. Lawrence grabbed Lily’s arm. She grabbed his but let go of the door. They tumbled down the stairs. They landed in a heap at the bottom with Lawrence underneath.

“Ohmigoshareyouokay?” Lily gasped.

“My back,” Lawrence groaned. “Please. Get off.”

Lily planted a boot on him and levered herself up. She stepped off. Lawrence raised a hand.

“Help me up?”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Lily looked at him with mild concern.

“I think so.” Lawrence wiggled his fingers and toes. He had bruises along his side where he hit the cement steps, but his glasses were okay. He grabbed the wrought-iron railing. He picked himself up. His pride was bruised more than anything. He gestured at the structure they left. “What do those circles do?”

“This is the summoning tower,” Lily explained. “The design on the floor brings outsiders in. It doesn’t protect you from them, just brings them. Therefore, do not summon anything you cannot handle.”

They left the summoning tower. A pale, see-through woman wandered by. She muttered to herself. Lily ignored her.

“Who’s that?” Lawrence asked. The ghost wore a raggedy robe and no shoes.

“Eleanor Tailor. A faustian damned. She died a long time ago. You’ll learn about her in your history classes.”

Lily led Lawrence to an ugly building of dark stone. It was bare of any ornamentation. It sat near the perimeter of the school, butted up against the outer walls. No guards patrolled.

“See those?” Lily pointed at the walls. “They have a warding strength of seventy-five. They’ll keep out all but the most powerful demons. One thing you’ll learn is most demons aren’t affected by physical defenses, just wardings. But mortals are. The walls are there to keep the students from running,” she added, laughing.

Lawrence did not laugh. He gave the walls a quick glance. They were made from black iron and stone. A curtain of alien leather rose from the battlements up to the ceiling. Lawrence hurried inside. He wasn’t certain what to expect of the dormitories. Back home, some students preferred to sleep in a barracks. Lawrence thought they were mad. Why would anyone want to share a room with eighty other men?

“Centuries ago, this place housed an army of students. Now, the class size is a fraction. Pick any room you like that isn’t taken. You have a couple hours to get settled in. When the lamps get low, I’ll meet you on the quad. You have a clock?”

“I have a watch.” Lawrence pulled up his sleeve.

“Dinner’s at six.” Lily gestured.

Lawrence went down the hall. He opened the doors one after the other. It became apparent most of them were the same size: small. Smaller than his room at home, which was comfortable for one guy and a betta fish in a plastic box. Poor Mr. Fish. Thankfully, Lawrence had more success bonding with berserk llamas.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Anyway, while Lawrence was getting close to outgrowing his room, these rooms were cells. Every room was the same. None were bigger or smaller. All featured the same size and dimensions, the same content. Lawrence picked one at random facing the rest of the complex. It was on the top floor, giving him a view even if there was nothing to see.

The room was seven feet wide by twelve feet long. The sinew-wood bed had a thin mattress, one pillow and bedding set, and one wool blanket. There was a wardrobe, some shelves, a desk, and one chair. It had a square-shaped window, but no glass or shutters. Wind blew in off the mountains. The leather battlement curtains strained to keep it out. Despite their efforts, small openings existed in the wall for people to pass.

Wind and gas entered those openings and around the cracks. Wind blew through every room in the dorm and the campus. There was no air conditioning or heating. A few unlit candles stood on the desk, but there were no electric lights.

Lawrence left and found the communal bathroom. There were a few washbasins, but no showers. The toilets were square-shaped holes over cement boxes, which led to a sloping trough. There were no lights or running water in here either, though there were a few candles. None of the stalls had doors. The window provided little light, which meant of course the sulfurous stink and temperatures pervaded.

Lawrence went back to “his” room. He shook his head. He opened his discount bag of holding. A furry head popped out of it.

“Hello, Cosmic Creepers.” Lawrence opened the bag the rest of the way. The llama stepped out and onto the floor. Following him came a tidal wave of things. Lawrence began stacking them as best he could.

“Hello, Doctor.” Cosmic Creepers walked from one end to the other. He made it two strides before turning. “This place is a pigsty.”

“Not as good as home, huh?” Lawrence put his tablet on the desk. There were no outlets. Anywhere. He put the tablet off to the side. He was determined not to waste the battery. He could recharge it… he paused. He couldn’t, could he? Not unless he found a repair spell or unlocked one. Or found a generator, which wasn’t probable.

“Why did you bring me here?” Cosmic complained. “Why did I have to come? Couldn’t your father have fed me? I don’t eat that much, surely.”

“Dad said you’re my responsibility, not his. He was going to have you put down. Or set loose.”

“I’d almost rather be loose in the forest than in this place.” Cosmic sniffed. He stuck his head out the window and sneezed. “There must be forest gods in the mortal world. What do the aliens believe?”

“The aliens believe the gods are dead. There are the dead gods, and then there are the forgotten gods. According to Frost the doppleganger, the forgotten ones are like Outsiders. They exist outside the world and people aren’t supposed to talk about them. Outsiders are called Color Jobs,” Lawrence explained.

He made sure nothing was living in the wardrobe. Then he began filling it with clothes.

“All the Colors Jobs are dead or gone. The aliens killed them thousands of years ago and made sure to imprison the ones they couldn’t. Wherever they are now is anyone’s guess. As for the gods, they’re dead and gone. The aliens are secular.”

“I don’t understand. How could they be ‘forgotten’ if there’s a gag order?” Cosmic stopped pacing. He folded his legs under himself and sat by the wall.

“Well, I dunno. It’s all make-believe alien religious nonsense. If you ask me, none of it matters. We’re in Hell. There aren’t any gods in Hell, as far as I know. We’ll prolly never see one or meet one. If they are here, the chances of us meeting one of their souls is like one in a couple hundred billion. Anyway, for the ‘forgotten ones,’ it’s rumored there’s a water-world named Titan. Supposedly, it has a watery core instead of magma. Some people think there’s a Color Job trapped down there. It’s just a rumor, but there is a documented cult that sacrifices young virgins to the deepest trenches. Food for the beast or something.”

“Sounds awful. When do we go?”

“We won’t.” Lawrence met his eyes. “You’re a plains and mountain creature. The only thing you can meet is the Jade Naturalist, a forest-type forgotten one.”

“Do you think it is possible for familiars to learn Skills?”

“I dunno. Why?”

“I need Skills. [Iron Hooves] would be nice. Or [Steel Wool].” Cosmic looked at the ceiling. His eyes unfocused as if he was imagining a fantasy. “We must learn how animals can take Skills.”

“I think you can if you, like, officially become my familiar or something.”

“Well? Why haven’t you made me one yet?”

“Um.”

Because Lawrence wasn’t a [Mage]. Because he did not know how to bind familiars without using the Program. Because while Mom imparted everything one could desire to know about witchcraft and faustian sorcery, she knew nothing of familiars. She was a sorceress. Witches could bind familiars, sure, but she preferred her rituals. Witchcraft… she liked the potions and the independent woman-healer-teacher-shaman side of it. Potions, alchemy, poetry, or “craft?” Not so much.

All witches used two things to work their magic: an emotion and a craft. Mom used an alien aristocrat as an example: a powerful [Tea Witch]. She invited people to her house for a cup of tea in the middle of the day. She took the goodwill generated by the good time and infused it into the tea, making it taste delicious. Because it was goodwill, the tea would revert to its regular taste in a few days. Grow tea, be extrovert, infuse tea bags with goodwill, sell tea, profit.

That was it. That was the witch’s entire gimmick. Mom’s gimmick… she didn’t have one. Mom had the knowledge, but her witchcraft focused on alchemical potions which she then sold to the army or the police. Besides high-strength wardings all around the city, she spent much time causing droughts for the aliens by making rain for human-controlled farms. She artificially caused famines to engineer a monopoly on crops, thus allowing humans to export something besides Michael Jackson and blue jeans.

The aliens did not trade magic spellbooks or artifacts. They trafficked even less in alchemical ingredients. Mr. Frost had a brisk business keeping her stocked, which was tolerated and even encouraged by the government. Her potions saved lives.

Lawrence always hated alchemy. He had never shown any interest in witchcraft. Something about warlocks—male witches—being weaker than females rubbed him the wrong way. And mom’s knowledge of witchcraft was nothing impressive. She was a sorceress specialized in ritual magic. Therefore, it was only natural that Lawrence would know almost nothing about binding a familiar.

With Cosmic Creepers, his entire strategy had been to feed the llama until it considered him a friend. Try explaining that to the llama now, and Lawrence’s mouth closed.

“I’m sorry, Cos.” He hung his head. “I don’t know how.”

Cosmic Creepers sniffed. “The fact I am sitting here is proof of your talent.”

He wasn’t wrong. When a llama has been handled by humans for too long without socializing with other llamas, it starts to think of itself as a human. In dogs, no one cares. But most dogs are not three hundred pounds and six feet tall. Cosmic Creepers would bite, kick, and spit. He’d try to neck-wrestle people to the ground. All to prove his dominance over his handlers. The condition is called Berserk Llama Syndrome. It is incurable and untreatable. Any llama found to have it is killed.

Cosmic Creepers had Berserk Llama Syndrome. Lawrence bought him before the vet arrived. Lawrence put him in a steel cage and transferred him to a fenced area on Mom and Dad’s property. Lawrence fed him everyday. Lawrence took care of him. Over time, Cosmic’s aggression lessened. It took almost a year before the vet would allow him to be introduced to other animals. Cosmic Creepers still had his moments, but Lawrence succeeded.

“I love you, Cosmic Creepers.”

“And I love you, Hooman, Provider of Food and Maker of Bad Decisions.” After a minute, Cosmic tilted his head. “You are in pain. What happened?”

“Lily… We uh… I thought she was holding the door open for me but she wasn’t. We collided, and I, uh, fell. She did too, but I got hurt more.”

“Did she help you up?” Cosmic sniffed.

“N-no. She didn’t.” Lawrence sat in the chair. He had most things arranged. He had to stuff a lot of things under the bed. He packed the room full. “Why? Was she supposed to?”

Cosmic Creepers did not answer right away.

“What is it?” Lawrence scratched the back of Cosmic’s neck. “Cosmic?”

“It’s nothing. Probably.” The llama nuzzled him. “Keep me updated.”