13. Midnight
Midnight
T he hall is the kind of cavernous reserved for childhood horrors.
The same archways that lined the cloister corridors stretch from either side of the room.
I crane my head up. The ceiling has a spine-like structure that reaches from one end of the room to the other.
Spearing off the sides are support beams that look too much like a ribcage.
“Is that…” I whisper.
“Supposedly,” Bastien says.
Lex points at what would be the head end of the spine. “Rumour says it’s some giant dead demon. But there’s a lot of myth and rumour in this place. No one knows what’s real and what’s fiction. I think they do it to scare the first-years.”
“How about you don’t tell me all the horror stories, and I won’t have nightmares tonight,” Bastien whines.
“Don’t be such a pussy,” I nudge him, grinning.
At the end of the room, a stage is set above row after row of seating. There’s a lectern and stood to the side of it is Ignatius fucking Corvine.
Mother fucker.
“Wow, did he kill your puppy?” Bastien says, looking me up and down.
I tear my gaze away. “No, but…” I pull my sleeve up, showing him the brand.
“Ah,” he says.
“Yeah.” I yank my sleeve down.
“So that’s why you’re here? Trying to find a way to break your contract?” he asks.
“Bingo.”
Lex touches my arm. “How long do you have?”
Bastien leads us to a row of empty seats.
“A year, just under.”
“Shit,” Bastien says.
“Yeah, and given I am clearly behind on the basics, I’ll be spending my days vag-deep in study.”
Bastien and Lex share a glance as they sit.
Lex takes my arm and shoves my sleeve up examining Ignatius’s brand. “We could help, you know. Do you have a copy of your contract? I’ll bet I can find a loophole. And hey, if Bastien manages to get through this ceremony, maybe he can bring you back after… if… well, you know what I mean.”
“If?” Bastien snaps.
“What? I heard some people don’t make it.” Lex shrugs.
“Encouraging. Real encouraging, both of you,” I slouch in my seat.
Lex pouts at me, her expression drooping. She’s so forlorn I shove a fake smile on because I can’t bear the sight of her looking like that. “I’d love your help. Both of you, if you’re sure.”
“CANDIDATES OF FINIS ACADEMY,” Ignatius booms, cutting our conversation off.
I didn’t notice how quickly the room had filled.
“Welcome and congratulations on receiving your invitation to take the Severance Rite. Taking the rite does not guarantee you entry into the campus to study. In order to do that you must complete our sacred ritual. And only the strongest participants complete the rite.”
“What happens if we don’t succeed?” a voice shouts from near the front.
Ignatius looks less than impressed at the interruption. He scans the audience until he finds the culprit.
His lip curls into a vicious little snarl, one I recognise far too well. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
“If you’re unsuccessful, you don’t get in, candidate…”
“Yeah, but I heard some students die trying to complete the rite,” the young voice shouts again.
Ignatius’s expression turns feral. Very little knowledge makes its way out of Finis Academy—it’s a vault.
And that’s what makes gaining entry so sought after.
Unless you have family who have studied here and can pass down details, you’re on your own.
The Academy and its graduates protect the city, and the rest of the mortals go about their business mostly ignorant.
I’m assuming someone in Lex’s family studied here for her to be so knowledgeable. The only other way you find anything out is if you’re in close proximity to the demons—like being a reaper.
Though this job is not worth the additional knowledge.
The only other useful tidbit I’ve picked up from Ignatius is that a demon’s heart crystallises with each contract they create.
The more contracts they create, the more possible futures they eliminate for us mortals, and the more magic they harness.
Given how dark Ignatius’s eyes are, I’d imagine his heart is good and solid about now.
He rounds on the student, even though he’s still on stage, and his looming presence makes the entire front row shrink back in their seats.
He practically growls his response. “Then don’t fail.”
A mumbling breaks out across the crowd. He didn’t deny there was a risk of death.
The mood shifts, every candidate sits taller, more alert.
A slow coil of dread settles over the room.
Thick and choking. Unwanted awareness of danger settles in the blink of lids and parted lips.
Everyone recognises that someone won’t walk out of here, but no one is ready to accept it could be them.
“Is it true?” Bastien mutters.
“Yeah. My sister came here about ten years ago. Seven candidates failed to make it through and that was a good year,” Lex says.
“Fuck.” A pool of cold settles in my fingers and toes. I came here to save my soul. Not end it early. I glance back to check the doors—they’re already locked.
Wait. I frown at Lex. “You knew, and you volunteered to go through the rite anyway?”
She sags against her seat, sighing. “Is there anything better than power?”
Both Bastien and I turn to Lex, surprise written across both our expressions.
“That’s some dark villain shit for someone wearing such colourful clothes,” Bastien says.
“We all want power, Bastien. Even you. It’s the reasons why we want it that matter.”
“And yours are…?” he asks.
She tuts at him. “I might not be a reaper with a soul to save, but I do have unfinished business. And I can’t complete it powerless.”
I wonder how many more of us have come to Finis carrying the same burdens. A strange thing to be bonded by, but the fact we are provides comfort against the churning swirl of my gut.
“Let’s make a pact. If we make it through this ceremony, I want the truth. The real reasons you’re here,” I say.
“If it includes cake and beer, I’m in,” Lex says.
Bastien nods in agreement.
Every candidate in here wears tension like soldiers on a battlefield awaiting commands. Necks, backs and shoulders are rigid in seats. Lungs full of a collective breath sticky and coagulated with fear. Fists are clenched, knuckles are white, every brow furrowed in concentration.
Every candidate in here looks like they’re going to war.
Bastien leans forward, his voice low under his breath. “I guess you don’t come here without a past and a future that you want to rewrite. It’s just the nature of death.”
He couldn’t be more right. In all twenty-nine years of life, I’ve never wanted anything more than a chance to win the Demonic Favour. It’s a need that burns in my bones.
Ignatius claps, demanding attention. “This is an ancient ritual. The severing of a piece of your soul. In the same way that the seven devils and seven angels made the underworld and celestial realms. This tower was built on the bones of our gods. Their magic is stitched into the walls. And it is that same rite you must complete today, if you are to wield that power.”
I shift in my seat. I’ve severed hundreds, maybe thousands of souls. Which means I’m way too aware of how painful this is going to be. And of how dangerous it is to play with soul material.
Ignatius scans the room, and I swear his gaze lands on me.
“The stone remembers what the soul forgets. To survive here, part of you must be given freely. Like your future, like your pasts. All possibilities stem from this moment. Most of you will not leave here whole. Many of you will not leave here at all. Omnia mors aequat.” A new professor joins him on the stage. “Professor Malifax, let us begin.”