The next few days were honestly just… a little awkward.
Oz’s mother - Greta - seemed conflicted, treading on eggshells when it came to my health, but stubbornly insisting that I’d still recover in time to take the Academy exam. I didn’t mind. Better for the conversation to be a little stilted then for her to realise that her son had undergone a complete personality shift.
All the resting must have been doing something, as gradually I could stay awake for longer and longer periods of time. After a few days I started to walk again, just short distances around the house and the tiny patch of garden at the back, but walking nonetheless.
It felt good to build back some strength; Oz was thin and lanky but to his credit he recovered surprisingly quickly. It was probably due to his age. Which unfortunately also meant that I was constantly hungry, the small, plain meals that Greta could scrounge together never quite enough to fill me up.
The only remaining problem was the state of my left hand. No matter how strong I started to feel, I could never quite suppress the tremor along the fingers, evolving to a full, jittery shake any time I started to overdo it. Annoyingly I was left-handed whereas Oz had been right, and try as I might I still hadn’t quite been able to master my reflexes. I couldn’t help automatically reaching out with my left hand to catch or pick things up, until I noticed the shakes and realised that I’d done it again. Guess I’d have to learn to switch.
Despite all of this, there was one particular problem that seemed to be the root of many more.
The goddamn baby.
Honestly, I wasn’t surprised if the little squawking piece of shit was what had caused Oz to top himself in the first place. It cried all the time, which meant that Greta had to drop whatever she was doing to attend to her.
I could see why they were banking on Oz getting into the Academy: Greta and Anabelle worked as seamstresses, and their work had taken a pretty significant hit now that they had an eight month old infant to look after. Oz’s father was out of the picture and when I’d asked Anabelle about it, she’d gone very quiet and said that he was away on business. Quite what the business was, they wouldn’t tell me, but I was beginning to suspect it wasn’t of the virtuous kind.
So by the time the day of the exam rolled around, I was feeling increasingly, tearfully, excited at the prospect of getting both a full night’s sleep and a belly full of real food. Bits and pieces of my alchemy training and magic theory were beginning to return to me, enough so that I was feeling pretty confident in my ability to pass whatever it was that they’d throw at me. I’d quizzed Anabelle about it too, but she seemed pretty lost as to what the exam actually entailed.
“They say it’s not something you can prepare for,” she disclosed, when I bought it up. “It’s really just a way of testing out whether or not you have a Talent, and seeing if your personality would be a good fit for working with a Devil.
“How long does it take? And where is it?” I pressed.
“Some people take ten minutes, other people don’t come out all day. It really depends. And it’s in the Church, the one in the town square - about thirty minutes walk away,” she hastened to add at my blank look.
And now here I was, out of breath from a humiliatingly slow walk, staring up at the imposingly tall white marble structure and trying not to grimace at the sheer number of people milling around.
It seemed like this was a pretty big deal: red streamers hung from the spindly trees lining the neat square, the smell of frying meat wafting over from rows of food stalls. Children darted through the crowd, squealing as they were chased by laughing siblings and friends.
I was already getting the beginnings of a headache. I was flanked on both sides by Greta and Anabelle, sticking close as if they were afraid I was going to collapse. Hell, I was afraid I was going to collapse. It was fiercely hot, the sun hammering down from high on above in a cloudless sky, and I could already feel sweat collecting on my lower back.
“Is it usually this busy?” I asked curiously.
There was just no way a small Eastern town like Lowgate would have that many Talents - I would expect maybe four or five others at most, and even that would be pretty good going. But despite this I’d watched at least twenty other kids march up to the woman on the door of the Church, signing their names and bidding goodbye to their parents, swallowed up by whatever lay beyond.
“It is,” Oz’s mother agreed shortly. “A lot of hopeful people.”
Anabelle snorted, shaking her head. “They all think they might have a Talent but just haven’t discovered it yet. Such a waste of money.”
I looked down sharply. “Money?”
Anabelle’s eyes met her mother’s and Greta’s mouth tightened. “It does cost a small fee to undertake the examination. But we’ve saved for this purpose,” she said quietly.
Ah shit. “Right,” I said, rubbing the back of my head awkwardly. “Thanks.”
Well at least we already knew I had a Talent.
We sat down on a low stone wall in the shade of a tree for a few minutes, so I could get my breath back. Stone gargoyles peered down at us in a frozen grimace, perched above the tall arched doors.
I smiled. Cute.
Eventually though, the stream of applicants dwindled until it was time to heave myself up.
A short man sat at a wooden table just in front of the entrance, glasses perched on the end of a rather haughty nose. He glanced up assessingly as the three of us drew closer, eyes immediately zeroing in on me.
“Name and age?” he called as a greeting.
“Ozterly Taylor,” I recited, taking the proffered quill and clumsily scrawling my name. The man looked a little alarmed at the sheer amount of ink I managed to get on the line. You try writing with the wrong hand, I thought at him, mildly offended at his expression.
“Age?” he repeated when I’d finished, and I paused. I didn’t actually know how old Oz was. Thankfully Anabelle saved me from guessing.
“Seventeen,” she blurted out, grinning innocently as the man turned to look at her, eyes finding me again in confusion.
“Yep, seventeen,” I agreed quickly, scratching the numbers after my name.
There was a movement next to me, and I looked up to see Greta withdrawing a small purse out of the folds of her dress, fingers digging around for a few seconds before withdrawing a tiny divot of gold.
I swallowed. This wasn’t a ‘small fee’.
She slid it across to the man on the desk, who quickly picked it up, inspecting it briefly before adding it to the box on the chair beside him.
“Good, that’s everything.” The man took the paper back from me, frowning slightly as he stared down.
I turned, but before I could say anything my arms were suddenly full of teenage girl. I froze for a second before tentatively hugging Anabelle back.
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“You’re going to pass. And you’re going to get the apprenticeship,” she said seriously, brown eyes boring into my own. “You will.”
“I will,” I agreed as she pulled away, a little taken aback.
To my surprise, Greta’s thin hand came up to grip the material of my sleeve, and she stared at me for a beat before pulling me in. Her embrace was light, fleeting, but I felt her hands shake. Stepping back, she silently scanned my face as if searing it into her memory.
“Your family’s counting on you,” she murmured finally.
I didn’t know how to respond, just watched as she turned and quickly walked away, posture stiff as she made her way back across the square.
“We’ve got to get back for June,” Anabelle explained apologetically, “bye Oz. And good luck!” With one last, hopeful smile she stepped away, jogging slightly to catch up with her mother.
I stared after them for a few moments, wondering if I’d see them again. My mind fell to the gold divot, and I felt a bit better thinking about how they’d definitely receive the merit when I passed - and it would be easier to feed three mouths instead of four anyway.
“It’s through there,” the man behind the desk interrupted helpfully, pointing behind him to the only open door.
“Thanks,” I said sarcastically, and entered the church.
Inside was like a different place entirely. It was almost as if I’d stepped into another time: gone was the hum of the crowd, the hot wind and the bright wash of the sun. Instead, the church was strangely cold, the silence a cold, heavy weight. There was a strange feel to the air here, crisper perhaps, and as I walked further in I could smell a strange smoky scent, like incense or dried flowers.
All in all it felt… familiar.
I was so distracted trying to categorise the change, staring up and up at the huge vaulted ceiling and the towering stone statues that lined the walls, that I barely noticed what was happening at the front of the church until someone cleared their throat.
I looked down, startled, to see the front few rows of pews dotted with half a dozen others, all riveted on what was happening near the altar. In front of them, a man and a woman stood frowning down at a neat square opening in the floor. Both of them were dressed in the white, embroidered robes of the priests, and one of them glanced up at me, tilting his head sternly to indicate I should take a seat.
Wincing at the loud echo of my footsteps, I sat down near the front so I could get a clearer view of what was going on. We all seemed to be waiting, quite what for I wasn’t sure.
“What’s happening?” I whispered to the boy on my left. He looked a few years younger than me, nervously twisting his hands together on his lap.
He almost jumped at the sound of my voice. “We’re waiting for the Hound to get back from his break,” he whispered back, gulping as a priest shot him a stern look.
I felt a shiver of excitement curl up my spine. A Hound? Maybe this would jog another memory - maybe I’d recognise them?
On cue, there was a weird grating sound from the hole, and the two priests stepped back carefully. All of us leaned closer, too intrigued to notice the candles in the room dim in synchronization.
The first thing I heard was a sigh. The kind of sigh that, if translated into words, I was pretty sure would be something like ‘oh for fuck’s sake’.
It was followed by a rather short and squat man who, having heaved his way out of the opening, exhaled a cloud of purple smoke and surveyed us all with something like dismay.
“Jesus Christ, there’s more,” he muttered, seemingly to himself.
Hound, they’d called him. He wasn’t exactly what I’d expected, but then again, this probably wasn’t his usual form. He was dressed in a rumpled white shirt and trousers, dark, greasy hair slicked back to display rather downturned eyes in a tired looking face. In fact, the only evidence that he wasn’t quite human was the tail that snaked around his legs, waving carefully as he walked.
“You can’t,” the first priest announced, swallowing, “you can’t smoke in here.”
The demon’s head swivelled around to stare at the poor man. He seemed to be weighing something up as he peered closer with red eyes, before his hand came up to rub at his forehead and he shook his head.
“Fucking bureaucrats.” Taking one last puff, he spat the chewed cigarette onto the floor and crushed it beneath his heel.
I, along with the others, openly stared. I was kind of impressed at how casually he’d managed to rip through the ceremonial atmosphere.
“Right let’s get this over with,” he called out, turning to the priests. “Where’s the sheet,” he grumbled.
“Here you are sir,” came a voice from behind, and we all turned to watch as the man from before strode quickly up the aisle, half jogging, the piece of parchment I’d signed in his outstretched hand. He was followed by a nervous looking girl, who quietly took the seat next to mine, giving me a small smile. “This batch is the last.”
The second priest snatched it from him, sneering. “Yes thank you, that will be all.”
He nodded respectfully and made his way back to the door, closing it behind him. It shut with a surprisingly weighty clang. I hadn’t noticed it had been open before, but that weird feeling returned in double strength, the temperature dropping again. I shivered expectantly.
Clearing her throat, the priest peered down at the list. “Let’s start, shall we. Eldred Brown, seventeen.”
There was a moment of silence and then a girl on the row in front of mine raised her hand. Her smile was tight with nerves. “Yes sir.”
The priest raised her sagging eyebrows. “Up here please, Eldred.”
The girl shuffled out, the people between her and the end having to awkwardly lean back as she shimmied past. In a few quick steps she was standing in front of the priests, hands clenched by her sides as she stood in nervous silence.
“Over here girl,” the Hound called out boredly, crooking his fat fingers.
She flinched a little before collecting herself, making her way to where the Hound stood, tapping his foot impatiently.
He rolled his eyes. “I won’t bite,” he purred, displaying two neat double rows of pointed bone-yellow teeth. “Not today, at least.”
I nearly choked. Where was he getting his jokes from?
The girl didn’t seem to find it funny either. She held herself very still, wide eyes fixed on the wall behind him as he reached up and pulled her down towards him.
“This won’t take a moment,” he whispered, before his head was obscured by her shoulder.
I watched her tremble as he snuffled over her shoulders, eyes fluttering closed and a faint frown appearing on his face.
“Nothing,” he said, drawing back. “A mute.”
The girl paled, looking up at the priests who stared back impassively. “Please make your way back to the Brother on the door,” the second one prompted, already turning back to the paper.
She stood there for a moment, before the verdict seemed to sink in and she realised she’d already been dismissed. Slowly, she stepped off the raised platform, eyes filling with tears as she was forced to walk past the rest of us. Ouch, I thought. That was a lot of money down the drain, just to be told that you weren’t Talented.
For a moment, the sound of Eldred’s fading footsteps filled the church as the priest made a quick note on the parchment. Then she straightened, calling out the next name.
“Brioth Asper, sixteen.”
A small, mousy boy on the second row sprung up immediately, scurrying up the steps. He looked young, face still round with puppy fat, but strangely didn’t seem nervous at all. Smiling, he walked straight up to the Hound, who rolled his eyes and leant in.
Again, he repeated the weird sniffing process, this time drawing back after a few seconds. He seemed to smack his lips together, like he was rolling wine around his mouth.
“Hmm. Yep, this one’s Talented,” he pronounced, lips curling.
The priest holding the paper sighed. “Down there please,” she said, nodding to the hole the Hound had emerged from.
The boy’s grin didn’t fade as he peered down into the gloom, eyes flitting back to the Hound before slowly stepping in. We all watched, a little jealously, as he disappeared into the earth.
The priests and the Hound repeated the process for the remainder of the group, all but two others sent out as ‘mutes’, until only the latecomer and I remained.
I waited, holding my breath slightly as the door clanged shut again and the priest looked back down at the paper.
She frowned. “Oz...” she started before squinting, “Oslerg-”
“Ozterly Taylor, sir,” I blurted out, embarrassed. Fucking right-handed Oz, why couldn’t he have decided to dice up his other arm instead?
“Right,” she said, clearly unimpressed. “Well up you come Ozterly, we haven’t got all day.”
I shot to my feet, inching my way out of the pew and climbing the two small steps to the platform. A little nervous, despite myself, I stepped towards the Hound.
He turned to stare up at me and for some reason I couldn’t help it: I froze.
His eyes. That particular shade of red. There was something about it, something that hammered insistently at a door in my mind, a growing pressure. For a second it was all I could see: drowning in those bright crimson pools.
And then I blinked as he reached out an arm, tugging me closer. His brow furrowed slightly as he leant in, shoving his face just in front of my neck and taking a deep inhale.
This close I could smell him, smoky enough that I had to swallow back the cough. Even though our skin wasn’t touching, I could feel the faint buzz of energy coming off him, the classic sign of someone used to spending too much time in Hell.
I held myself very still, waiting for his verdict. It felt like he was there for a good few minutes, when in reality it was probably more like twenty seconds, but eventually he slowly pulled back.
His face was blank, eyes boring into mine as he titled his head thoughtfully. “Yeah. He’s got one.”
I opened my mouth, curious as to what he’d sensed, but one of the priests cut me off.
“If you please,” he directed briskly, pointing at the opening where a set of dusty stairs faded out of sight into the blackness.
I looked behind me. Only the girl was left, pale with anticipation. She smiled weakly, raising her eyebrows in what could have been encouragement.
I turned back and stepped into the hole.