The stone steps leading down into the darkness were uncomfortably steep, and the sallow light from above was barely enough to see by. My muscles ached with tension as I made my way down, painstakingly slowly. One wrong step and I’d have a couple of broken bones at best, a smashed skull at worst.

Thankfully, after a minute or so I made it to the floor below, stepping off into a dusty stone room which was half-lit by a cluster of candles on a large slab of stone. The low ceiling initially made me think vault, but as I looked around I revised my original guess. This was more like a crypt, endless darkness stretching out in every direction. High up above, the opening shined like a tiny square moon.

From the bubble of visibility provided by the candles, three other kids stared out, all huddled close together. Brioth, obviously, was there, with the two others who had been selected earlier: a tall girl with very long straight hair, and another boy, this one heavily built, at least six foot. All of them looked surprised to see me.

“Yo,” I said, wiping the nervous sweat from my forehead. The word echoed, bouncing off the walls until it faded to a whisper and silence reigned once again. They blinked back at me. “I’m Oz,” I tried again after an awkward pause.

Thankfully, the big guy nodded. “Ben,” he replied quietly.

“I’m Saerin,” the girl added.

That left- “Brioth.” He smiled, and it only made him look like even more of a child - he couldn’t have been more than, what, twelve?

I walked closer, eyes flitting to the empty table. Weren’t we supposed to have some kind of test down here? What exactly were they going to have us do? I opened my mouth to ask if anyone knew but Ben got there first.

“Are they nearly finished? We’ve been waiting for nearly an hour at this point.” He rubbed his eyes, sighing.

Brioth turned to stare up at the steps. “Looks like they’re coming now. There was only one left after you, right Oz?”

“Right,” I agreed, barely able to hear the faint taps as someone started their descent. Was it just the Hound? Or was he with the girl too?

A sudden rush of air and a loud bang had all three of us skittering back across the stone floor.

The Hound chuckled as he straightened up, clouds of dust billowing up in the gloom.

Jesus Christ, he’d jumped it.

After a smirk at our alarmed faces, he turned, striding off somewhere into the darkness. A muted wet pop rang out from a few feet away, and then the unmistakable sound of glugging liquid. We exchanged confused glances, nobody quite volunteering to speak.

After a few seconds he emerged again, pulling a half-full bottle away from his lips and sighing loudly in satisfaction as he restoppered the glass. “Thirsty work, this is.”

I caught a brief glance of the label. Brandy. Huh, not what I would have pegged him for.

It took a moment to realise I could still hear footsteps. Slowly, the dark shadow above started to grow larger, resolving into the girl from before. She was making her way down the steps much faster than I had. Reaching the bottom, she paused to catch her breath, looking around curiously.

“Over here, girl,” the Hound barked, motioning her forward with a clawed hand. “Come on.”

She hurried over, standing next to Ben in the shaky line we’d managed to form. The Hound peered down, gaze scanning each of us in turn. I couldn’t help the flinch when his eyes got to me, his huff of amusement making my skin crawl.

“Not a talkative bunch, are you,” he muttered. I hadn’t seen him reach into his pocket, or even light it, but suddenly there was another cigarette in his mouth, smoke curling from the end.

Predictably, we stayed silent.

“Christ, ok. Well let me tell you how this is going to go. Very simple, you give me some of your blood.”

I stiffened.

“Only a little. And then we have a little heart-to-heart.” He smiled, showing off his teeth again through a puff of smoke. “And then you’re done!”

It wasn’t an ideal scenario. Blood would forge a link - a link that would take time to dissolve. Clearly a very dangerous gift to give someone, let alone an unknown lesser demon.

“I- How will this measure our Talent?” Saerin spoke up, tensing as the Hound’s red gaze slid to her.

“Why don’t we demonstrate for the others?” he said casually.

For a moment we all stared.

Then he lunged.

Saerin screamed, but it did no good. He was faster than he looked, darting out to easily grab her. He took hold of her wrist, bending her arm in what looked like an uncomfortable contortion so that her palm faced upwards towards him.

Ignoring her struggling, he inspected it briefly before reaching out to hover a fat finger over the centre.

We all watched in nervous curiosity as his black nail pressed down into her skin, hard enough that the tip sunk in. Saerin hissed in pain as he dragged his finger from the top to the bottom, repeating the movement the other way. It wasn’t hard to see the shape he’d cut: a thin, dark cross, stark against the white of her skin. Slowly, blood began to bead up and drip, a steady tap on the floor below.

Saerin stopped struggling, looking on frozenly as the Hound drew her freshly cut hand up to his mouth. An unnaturally long, fleshy tongue emerged, slithering through the pooling liquid. For a second I could see the blood, a smear of oily black on his tongue, and then it retracted back into the cavern of his jaw.

I fought to keep my eyebrows from raising. He certainly had a flair for dramatics, for all he seemed to complain about the job.

He swallowed, and the room got darker, the candle flames skittering. A familiar static settled on my skin, energy starting to thrum in the air.

My fists clenched, and I fought to keep the grin off my face. This is what I’d been missing, I realised. This beautifully, heady feeling. The power.

The Hound mumbled something under his breath, and then Saerin crumpled.

It happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that for a second nobody moved, all of us confused.

Then Ben shot forward, dropping to his knees next to her.

“Saerin?” he muttered, rolling her over onto her back. “Sae? Sae come on.”

She looked like she’d aged about five years in the few seconds that had passed. Pearls of sweat glinted on her forehead, and a strange bloody foam began to lazily bubble from her lips.

Thankfully, after a moment she twitched, eyebrows furrowing. I released a breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding.

“Wh- Wh-” It sounded like she was trying to ask something.

The Hound snorted. “Right, well you’re fairly obvious.”

Ben looked up at him, confused. “What?” He held Saerin’s hand between his own. They obviously knew each other.

The Hound rolled his eyes. “She failed. Not too shabby actually. Some kids go mad. That being said, might want to watch her for a few weeks. Sometimes they try to off themselves.”

Ben blinked, looking from Saerin to the demon slouched in front of him. “Wh- what did you do?”

We all wanted to know. How on earth was that a test for the strength of a Talent? It was over so quickly. I had a sudden eerie thought: had I done this before, in my old life?

“Trade secret,” the Hound replied, lazily blowing out another cloud of cigarette smoke. “No offense kid, but this is my last assignment of the week. Enough with the questions.”

Ben wasn’t given much of a choice.

“You’re up next anyway,” The Hound sighed, taking hold hold of Ben’s shoulder and jerking him up until he was staggering on his feet. “Hand,” he said, red eyes unblinking.

Ben’s jaw clenched but all the same, he reached out. His hand shook.

The Hound repeated the cut, the tasting, the mumbling. I still couldn’t make out what he was saying - it sounded like latin, but I couldn’t be sure.

Sure enough, a few seconds later Ben dropped. Unfortunately, he didn’t manage to land as gracefully as Saerin. His head smacked against the stone floor, a wet crunch ringing out into the darkness.

I winced. That didn’t sound good. Should I go to him? Would that reflect badly on me, or well?

We waited but he didn’t move. A line of red began to make its way down the side of his face.

The Hound looked thoughtful for a moment, but then seemed to lose interest. I’d kind of expected him to at least check Ben over, but he just turned back to us, shrugging. “Let’s call that a fail too, shall we?”

Brioth nodded and, wasting no time, stepped over Ben, wordlessly offering up his hand. He hadn’t lost the relaxed expression from before, but I could see his shoulders tensing.

He didn’t flinch as the Hound made the cuts, just glanced at me over the top of his head as he bent to lick up the blood. I couldn’t quite work out the expression in his eyes, steady and grey. Was he warning me?

The Hound hummed appreciatively, the folds over his eyelids raising slightly. “Sweet,” he sighed, staring at the wound.

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I watched curiously. Brioth was already an oddity. Something told me he’d have a different reaction to the others.

The Hound completed his mumblings as before, and the remaining girl and I glanced at each other, both of us wide-eyed.

Brioth didn’t disappoint. Instead of passing out, he was suddenly staggering back, half tripping over himself. Breath punched out of him in short, sharp gasps, like he’d been running, hand coming to clench over his heart. He seemed to be on the verge of collapsing, reaching out to steady himself on the low table.

“Well,” the Hound whistled. “Would you look at that.”

“Are you ok?” the girl asked quietly, watching as he struggled to get his breathing under control.

He didn’t answer but the Hound had already moved on, turning to look straight at me.

Ah shit. With some reluctance I held out my hand, clearing my throat awkwardly.

He rolled his eyes and pulled me closer. A flick of his wrist was accompanied by a sharp burning pain in my palm. It wasn’t a deep cut, but the skin on my hands was more tender than I was used to - Oz apparently hadn’t been one for much manual labour. Surprising, considering his family’s finances.

I was slightly concerned that the Hound still had the lit cigarette in the corner of his mouth, now just a lazily smoking stub, but somehow he managed to hold it in place as he poked out his tongue. A shiver ran down my spine as he licked a clean stripe across my hand. His tongue was unnaturally cold, like a block of ice.

Would I pass out like the others? I eyed the floor. Was there some way I could angle my body, so if I fell I wouldn’t end up like Ben, still motionless on the ground?

There wasn’t time. Brioth had straightened up slightly, raising his head just enough to stare at me through his curly brown hair. His eyes were white around the edges, like a startled horse.

I looked back at the Hound, just in time to see his lips move.

I felt a weird tug, deep inside my rib cage, like something had reached in and grabbed. And then I was gone.

The next thing I knew I was cold and wet. I opened my eyes, staring at mud-slicked cobblestones. My chest felt tight with panic. Where the hell was I?

Something slammed into my side, hard enough to drive the breath from my lungs. I cried out, shoved onto my back with the force. Above me, rain was pouring down from a low grey sky, tiny silver threads diving into the puddles on the ground.

I was in some kind of square, like the one the Church was in but slightly smaller. I could see people, Townsfolk, but they walked straight past without glancing in my direction.

That’s all I managed before another blow got me in the stomach. For a second I felt nothing and then my ribs flared into pain. Vomit surged up and splattered on the ground. My body automatically curled into a ball, arms up to protect my head.

“Pathetic,” a voice sneered loudly from above. “That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it Taylor? A rag for my boots.”

I felt a prod at my side, couldn’t help the hiss as whoever the speaker was began to wipe their shoes on my bruised ribs. I could hear laughter ringing out, at least four or five others. Strangely, more so than the beatings, it was the laughter that hollowed out my chest.

I chanced a glance upwards through the curl of my fingers. Five others, all around my age. For some reason, I couldn’t focus on their faces. They were clear in my periphery but as soon as I tried to see the features they would blur.

One of them advanced and I scrambled away, hands slipping on the ground.

“Where do you think you’re going? Crying to Daddy?” they mocked.

“Fuck off,” I gasped reflexively.

I kept waiting for someone walking past to stop, to stare, but nobody did. They kept on walking, like I wasn’t there, like they couldn’t see. My fists clenched, humiliation burning hot through my cheeks.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot he’s too busy down in Fairfin, fucking whores to care about his ugly bitch of a wife and her litter.”

I glared at his smudged face, blinking the rain out of my eyes and trying in vain to stop my heart rate rising. Why was I feeling so panicked? I could feel myself trembling, a wave of self-loathing welling up. You are weak, I told myself. Look at you - pathetic, just like he said.

I paused, consideringly.

Weak? When had I ever been weak? I didn’t give a shit about this little upstart, or, if i was being honest, Oz’s family and their reputation. Some random kid badmouthing them shouldn’t affect me. It certainly shouldn’t be making me feel so… disgustingly emotional.

Oh, I realised. It was the test.

They were using the blood-link to access my (or, rather, Oz’s) worst fears. I’d be kept under until the strain got too much, and if my Talent was strong enough, it would trigger it to react and break the link.

Which meant…

I couldn’t help the incredulous, relieved laugh, covering my face with my palms even as someone kicked me again, pain flaring bright in my thigh.

Under normal circumstances, Oz’s Talent was never going to react. Even I could tell it was a depressingly weak one. But seeing as I wasn’t anywhere near as consumed by the fear as Oz would have been - it was physical reflex and nothing more - maybe I’d have a chance at faking a pass.

After all, these were Oz’s fears, not mine.

Unfortunately though, it seemed the magic didn’t quite care that I’d figured it out.

The shadowy figure crouched down, and, to my irritation, I felt a fresh swell of terror claw its way to the surface. His eyes were black holes, staring down at me unblinkingly, face still a featureless blur.

A shock ran through me as I noticed the curved knife in his hand.

Ok what the hell? Oz’s body didn’t have knife scars - I’d have noticed them. This must be new.

I blinked and he was twisting the knife in my thigh, gutting the muscle with every twitch of his fingers.

“Fuck!” I yelled, shoving him back as hard as I could, but it didn’t do anything. His grip was like cold, hard iron, completely immovable. No wonder Oz was scared, maybe they’d threatened him before?

A wave of dizziness stole over me. The weird panic feeling was continuing to grow and it was getting harder to breathe.

The rest of the kids crowded closer, cold, rough hands running over me, grabbing from all directions.

“Oz!’

Ah shit.

“Anabelle,” I growled, trying to peer through the figures surrounding me.

This was depressingly predictable. His greatest fears - bullying and his family. What a nice, normal kid.

I gritted my teeth, breathing shakily. The knife was still inside my leg, although my assailant seemed to be bored of it - he stood abruptly, grabbing hold of my hair and yanking me up to my knees. Anabelle started to scream, the laughing growing louder.

A lovely fucking scene. Now how could I break it?

“Poor little Oz,” he whispered into my ear. “You keep trying and trying. When will you stop? Just give up. You’re letting everyone down, just like you always have. just let go.”

I felt tears begin to well up, whether from the pain in my scalp or his words I didn’t know. What was I supposed to do? I tried to think. If my talent was strong, I’d be able to slaughter them all. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. So what option did that leave me?

Black flickered in my vision and I felt my lips curl. Of course. How fitting.

I couldn’t think about it too much or I’d never do it. With a shout I grabbed the knife from where it was sticking out of my leg, and shoved it into my arm, right where the scars were. Pain unfurled as my arm split open, blood rushing out. The ground beneath me began to turn red, it’s spread hastened by the rain.

“What about that, hm?” I snarled as my vision began to fade.

None of them spoke, their black hole eyes staring frozenly into mine. The screams of Anabelle began to fade and then-

Suddenly I was outside in a garden, the smell of cedar and smoke floating in the air. Wherever it was was high up: a cold, feathery mist wove around my ankles, and all around me I could see mountains, bruised blue and lilac by dawn. Well-tended flowers decorated the ground, with a white path snaking its way past me and into the distance.

The back of my neck prickled and I turned around slowly. Four marble pillars towered behind me like giant white tree trunks, their shadows dark and long on the grass.

There was a man standing with his back to me, arms folded.

My mouth opened, and I felt the hum of a word leave my lips. What was I saying? I could hear nothing at all.

The man jumped slightly, his dark hair fluttering in the wind. He began to turn, and I shouted to warn him. But it was no use, I was already too late-

I couldn’t breath. My hands were scrabbling at my neck, trying in vain to get my fingers under whatever it was I was noosed with. It felt like string, cutting a burning line into my windpipe, doubling the pressure in my throat, my head. My eyes felt hot, like they were going to pop, and weird clicking noises were the only thing that could escape my mouth.

Shit, was all I could think. Shit, this scene was mine.

Think about Oz, I told myself desperately. You’re seventeen. Anabelle, Greta, the baby. Pale skin, freckles, brown hair. You live in Lowgate. Come on, that’s who you are. I looked down at my hands, their softness, their youth. Oz, I repeated. Oz, Oz, Oz.

My stomach turned and for a brief moment I was back in the rain, in the square, back to seeing strangers walking past.

I blinked and then I was coughing like I’d been drowned, the Hound stepping back, the disdain in his face visible even in the flickering candlelight.

“Fuck,” I spat, massaging my neck. I glanced down through watering eyes. To my left, Ben and Saerin were still on the floor.

“How delightfully unexpected,” the Hound drawled.

I couldn't have retorted even if I wanted to, throat still burning. Brioth looked equally amazed, watching me with his mouth parted in shock. I tried not to let my elation show on my face. I’d passed. Who cared if I’d cheated? I’d still gotten through and managed to find some kind of clue to why I was here in the first place. I had two beautiful questions to answer: where was that mountain top, and who was that man?

My victory was forgotten quickly.

“Alright, you. Come on.” The Hound barked, gesturing at the girl.

She swallowed, stepping forward out of the dark. Her eyes glistened a deep, dark black, wide with anticipation as she stared down at the Hound’s fingers. He reached for her, no more showmanship now, just lazy brute force.

With a flick of his wrist he carved out the two lines on her palm.

I could see her going through the same thought process as I had, adjusting her stance a little, trying to make sure if she crumpled she wouldn’t knock herself out. I thought she’d be ok - she was small, seemed pretty light on her feet.

I watched carefully. I was closer to her than I had been to the others, close enough to see the strange shimmer near her forehead as the Hound spoke, the way her pupils seemed to vibrate as her eyes rolled back. What fascinated me was the timing - the whole experience had lasted at least six or seven minutes for me, and I’m sure it was supposed to have gone on longer, I’d just cut it short. But, I presumed, considering I’d come out of it still standing, it must have been just a few seconds.

The girl, whoever she was, confirmed it. She took a single step backwards, as if pushed, and then dropped to her knees. Like Brioth and me, she remained upright, but when she raised her head blood was streaming from her nose, a black stain spreading on the grey of her shirt. She’d bitten through her lip too.

I was a little taken aback at the sheer rage in her expression. She was staring at the Hound like she was half about to jump on him. It was the first time I saw him crack a real smile, a tiny little upcurl at the corners of his mouth.

“So here we have them.” He turned to Brioth, me, and her. “Three in a row,” he murmured, “from the last batch in a little backwater in Peter’s City. What the hell are they feeding you here?”

I reflexively shrugged.

“You,” he said, pointing at Brioth, “you’ll get ranked around the mid teens.” He looked at me, cocking his head consideringly. “On the other hand, you… I’d say late forties. At best.”

My mouth dropped open. I knew Oz’s Talent wasn’t the strongest - seeing death on dead people was surprisingly not that in-demand of a skill - but late forties? That was basically a prize for participation. Nobody after thirty really stood a chance. I sighed mentally. Did it matter? Even forty was too high for him. I was lucky to have gotten even this far.

I looked to the girl. “Eli,” the Hound mused, finally giving her a name. “Congratulations. You’ll be first ten, for sure.”

Eli gave a small smile, teeth stained red.

“So what happens now?” I blurted out, voice hoarse.

The Hound grabbed the brandy bottle from where he’d stashed it in his pocket, taking a good long swig. “We leave this dingy little place, and head back to the Academy. I believe introductory classes begin tomorrow.”

“Wait, so we don’t go home first?” Brioth questioned, frowning.

“Nope,” the Hound said, sounding amused, before his voice softened into a dangerous murmur. “That’s not home anymore, boy. Forget it. Forget your family, your friends. You have none now. You’re an Academy student. That’s all, understand?”

Brioth said nothing, just gave a short nod.

The Hound paused to let his words sink in before whirling round. He walked over to the stairs, peering up at the opening, and produced a hideously piercing whistle.

“Oi,” he called, “we’re finished!” His red eyes slid to the two on the floor. Saerin had managed to pull herself over to Ben, shaking him weakly. “Couple of blanks down here too, you’ll need to sort them out.”

The light shining down dimmed for a second as a figure above obscured it. “Noted,” the Priest’s voice echoed down, so faint I could barely hear it.

The Hound snorted. “You know they get worse every time,” he muttered. “Each year they somehow manage to get even more insufferable.”

Nobody replied.

He seemed to realise he was still holding the brandy bottle aloft, and hastily stuffed it in his pocket. Then he did something a little odd. It looked like he clicked his fingers, but only using his nails. The tip of his index finger flashed red. Quickly, he dropped onto his haunches, finger dancing over the dusty stone. I couldn’t really make out whatever symbol he’d drawn, as the next second it shimmered and the air around us seemed to shift.

At his feet, replacing the symbol, was a fairly large red rectangle. A door, I realised. There was now a random wooden door in the floor, with a huge brass ring smack bang in the middle.

Sighing, the Hound grabbed the ring and pulled. A faint buzzing filled my ears as the door creaked open.

“Come on then,” he said, gesturing to the thick blackness on the other side. “Hop in.”