Old Beginnings (The Forgotten Slayer Book 1)

by Alix Marsh

  There was an immediate sea of protests.

  “What?”

  “But, I haven’t studied.”

  “What exam?”

  “That’s not fair, is it?”

  “When were we told about this?”

  “I’m going to fail, I just know I am.”

  “Quiet!” Mr. Castle raised a hand for silence. “This may not be an exam you can study for—”

  “Or prepare for in advance,” Miss Turtlebee inserted.

  “But it’s still an exam, so there’ll be no more talking.”

  Miss Turtlebee looked over them. “It is merely a measure for us to gauge your powers, so we’re better able to guide your coursework next year.”

  Mr. Castle stroked his fluff. “There’s no pass or fail mark.”

  “Yeah, right,” Ice whispered heatedly. “Why wouldn’t Reece have warned me? Rhye and Roan probably want me to fail, but I always thought Reece was secretly on my side.”

  “Miss Bridleton?” said Miss Turtlebee sharply. “Do you mind?”

  Ice looked like she minded very much, but she only gulped, silently.

  Flynn shared a look with Jack. What was that about?

  “Right, then,” Mr. Castle said. “Leave your schoolbags on the lawn and form a line. Follow me.”

  They did as they were told, although it was a somewhat ragged line that marched up along the oval path with Mr. Castle in the front and Miss Turtlebee brining up the rear.

  Ice didn’t stay silent for long, but she wasn’t the only one mumbling either. “This is so unfair! We should have been warned.”

  “You heard what they said,” Jack said. “We wouldn’t have been able to study for it.”

  “And we can’t fail,” Flynn said.

  “That’s enough talking,” came Miss Turtlebee’s raised voice from behind.

  Ice kept her head turned forward, her voice barely above a whisper. “Is it even allowed? They’re not supposed to test us on our Surge.”

  “They’re not supposed to ask us about it,” Jack said. “Doesn’t mean they can’t test our powers. This is a slayer school, after all. Anyway, I think it’s an excellent idea.”

  “Of course you do.” She sounded more upset than angry. “You’d like everyone to be judged and condemned on the day they’re born.”

  “Miss Bridleton!” reprimanded Miss Turtlebee. “I’ll not speak to you again!”

  Flynn thought Ice was being a little harsh on Jack, but when he looked at her to say so, he saw her lower lip was trembling. She really was upset.

  They walked without saying another word, until the top of the marching line cut off the oval path onto a trail and Ice turned to them with an astonished, “I know how they’re going to test us! We’re going to the Bunker.”

  “The Training Field?” said Jack.

  She shook her head. “This is the trail that goes around the back. Don’t you see? They’re taking us to the Shadow—”

  “Oh, for goodness sake,” Miss Turtlebee said loudly, striding up from the end of the line. She plucked Ice out and popped her back in just before it disappeared into the trail. Miss Turtlebee stayed there, waving everyone along. “Keep walking… Quiet, McKay… Single file, there you go… Miss Waxman, do you mind? What on earth is the matter with this class today?”

  Flynn waited until they were deep into the trail before turning back to speak quietly to Jack. “What did Ice mean? Not the Shadow demon, right?” But he knew. He knew! He wiped a hand across the sweat beading on his brow. “They can’t make us fight a demon. Right?”

  “Not likely,” Jack said. He didn’t sound very sure. He paused to bend down, feeling inside his left boot, as if to reassure himself that his swich hadn’t jumped out and deserted him.

  Flynn felt for his schoolbag, but it wasn’t there, of course. He’d left it on the lawn, along with his swich tucked beneath his books at the very bottom. He stumbled, his legs clumsy rods of lead, and had to grab an overhanging branch to steady himself.

  The teachers wouldn’t let anything bad happen. Would they? He decided not, very firmly, but his heart still pounded and he couldn’t get Milo out of his head,

  …they’re fattening you up to feed to a demon …he said goodbye and good riddance.

  Not just Milo, either. What had the Chess Twins said? He couldn’t remember which one, now, but the words drummed against his skull. We do not kill humans, Master Heath. But then they’d gone and spoilt it by adding, Humans mean a lot more paperwork and general unpleasantness. How would they know, if they didn’t kill the occasional human by accident?

  He should warn the others, Flynn suddenly thought, but then he glanced back and saw Jack looking every bit as pale as Flynn felt and he changed his mind. Causing an outbreak of panic wouldn’t do anyone any good.

  When they reached the back of the Training Field (which Flynn had since heard was actually a stadium), the line of pupils came to a gradual halt along the length of the sheer wall, scrunching up as everyone packed two or three abreast on the path barely wide enough for one, peering over shoulders to see what was happening up front.

  Ice wasn’t that far up ahead, but the path was jam-packed and they were corralled in by thick, thorny bush…there was no way to press through.

  Another teacher had been waiting at the Bunker, the droopy-eyed Mr. Underside from their Media Studies class, and he and Mr. Castle conferred. The next moment, Rowan, who was right up front, gave a pale, shaky glance around and fell out of sight along with Mr. Castle.

  There was a collective gasp up and down the line, and then a fresh outburst of chatter.

  “That’s enough,” Miss Turtlebee called from her position at the rear. “Settle down.”

  “They’ve gone in,” Jack said close to Flynn’s ear. “Poor sod.”

  It wasn’t long, however, before Rowan reappeared, looking paler and even more shaken, but very much alive. He only had time to give a limp wave to those waiting close by, before Mr. Underling ushered him through another trail further along and Mr. Castle led the next boy down the hole. When it was Milo’s turn, he shot a smug, arrogant grin over his shoulder before following Mr. Castle.

  Flynn’s breathing evened out. “They’re not down there long enough,” he said to Jack. “Not long enough to fight the demon.”

  “Yeah,” Jack said. He checked his left boot again.

  Ice turned and caught their attention with a hearty thumbs-up. She was smiling, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. It would be just like her, to get giddy at the chance of taking on a demon, barehanded if required.

  The line shuffled along, the hole sucking in a nervous looking boy or girl and popping them out a few minutes later looking a little worse than when they went in—even Ice seemed slightly rattled. Except for a Hellys boy called Thomas Luke…his colour actually looked a bit better coming out of the hole, although he did have a perplexed frown on his face.

  Too soon, Flynn was climbing down the steep steps and treading cautiously after Mr. Castle. The bunker light hadn’t been turned on, and the natural daylight didn’t filter much beyond the square patch directly beneath the opening. Flynn wasn’t deathly afraid anymore, but that didn’t stop him from glancing nervously in the direction of the pine crate in the corner. They weren’t using the trap door, though.

  Mr. Castle led him straight to the iron door. A shadow passed over the shimmering Darswich lockpad and then Mr. Castle pushed the door partly open. “This way.”

  Flynn took a tentative step inside the room, then another as he peered into the darkness, and then the door shut closed behind him, leaving them in utter blackness. Flynn froze, his fists clenched at his side. He held his breath, so he could listen for movement, but that didn’t help because his blood seemed to be roaring in his ears.

  A light flickered unsteadily—the neon tubing—and he knew what was coming, steeled himself… He wouldn’t be the first, the only one to scream. Or was this room soundproof? Didn’t matter. He wouldn’t scream.

&
nbsp; The light caught and washed over the seated figure of unbaked clay trapped by runes and silver bars, the streamlined body folded forward with arms draped over the rounded curve of his legs where his knees should have been and it was okay…it was okay. Flynn’s pulse rate slowed and his blood quietened.

  When he pulled his eyes away, he found Mr. Castle watching him closely. “What do you see?”

  Was this a trick question? Flynn glanced at the demon again. “A demon? Uh, a Shadow demon.”

  Mr. Castle wasn’t impressed with his display of knowledge. He barked something foreign (Latin? Flynn guessed, more from the fact that it came from his Latin teacher’s mouth than from spending six weeks in the man’s class) and then Mr. Castle snapped (in English), “What’s the demon doing?”

  The Shadow demon was slowly unfolding from the chair, rising to its full height of over seven feet.

  “Standing?” Flynn replied, frowning at his teacher in confusion.

  “And, now?” demanded Mr. Castle.

  Flynn looked at the demon. He’d turned to face Flynn, a tall, tall seamless man of dull grey with hollows where his eyes and mouth should be, not even that for a would-be nose, no ears, no hair, just an undefined, liquid-like formation in the general outline of a human.

  “He’s turned to me,” Flynn said, growing irritated. “Maybe looking at me… I can’t tell. And now,” he said before Mr. Castle could demand again, “he’s holding up two fingers behind his head. Do you really want me to say what sign I think he’s making?”

  Mr. Castle made a growling noise in the back of his throat, which may have been his answer to Flynn or it may have been another foreign order to the demon because right then the Shadow demon lurched forward, straight for Flynn, and Flynn screamed and jumped back and then he screamed again, even though the demon seemed to hit an invisible shield before he made it anywhere near the silver bars.

  His heart thumping ten-to-one, Flynn stood there, his back flattened to the wall. The door was open, he realised. Mr. Castle was waving him out. Flynn slithered out and up the Bunker steps so quickly, he didn’t even worry about whether that door had opened before or after his last scream until he reached the top.

  Jack raised a—So? Should I be worried?—brow at him.

  Which meant he hadn’t heard Flynn screaming. Flynn gave him the best, encouraging grin he could manage before being shunted along by Mr. Underside through a trail entrance practically obscured by a curtain of ivy.

  Flynn considered waiting for Jack, but he was too restless, unnerved…it felt better to keep moving. The trail seemed to loop endlessly, but there were no forks or offshoots, and eventually Flynn stumbled out onto the oval path, less than a hundred yards, he was sure, from where they’d gone in. The rest of the class waited there, some looking more shell-shocked than others, no one saying much.

  Ice had been watching out for him and came straight over. “That was horrible,” she whispered. “Did he lurch at you?”

  Flynn nodded. “What the heck was that about?”

  “It is a measure of our power,” she said, still speaking quietly, “but they didn’t have to add the scare. I bet that was Mr. Castle’s idea. He seems the sort.”

  Jack must have tramped the trail faster than Flynn, because he came shooting out just then, brushing leaves and dirt off his shoulders. “Blimey, that was the opposite end of fun.”

  “Not as bad as it is for Thomas,” Ice said, looking to where he stood with a grimace. “He didn’t see a thing.”

  “Lucky mite,” Jack said. “Wish I could have blocked that out.”

  “He wasn’t the one that blocked it,” Ice said sadly. “The demon did. Only slayers can see demons. The stronger the demon, the more powerful you have to be to be able to see them. And this is one of the lowest tier demons…” She shook her head slowly. “If he couldn’t see the Shadow demon, then he can’t see any.”

  “Huh,” exclaimed Jack in surprise. “I’ve been right all along, then? Our Surge…the strength of our power, does matter. So, you’ve changed your mind about this test, too?”

  “It doesn’t matter, not like that,” Ice said crossly. “Being super powerful doesn’t automatically make you the better slayer! But, yes…” Her voice dropped again. “I suppose I do see the point of them testing us. It’s not really possible to be a slayer—an active slayer, anyway—not if you can’t see demons…at all.”

  “That’s what the test was?” asked Flynn. “Just being able to see the demon?”

  “And you knew all along,” Jack told her in an accusing voice.

  “I knew about the very weakest slayers not having demon-sight, that’s all,” she said quickly. “I didn’t know about the test. I thought they were going to measure our Surge, somehow, but then I recognised the trail to the Bunker and I realised what was happening. I tried to tell you.”

  “That’s okay,” Flynn said.

  “Yeah.” Jack shoved his hands in his pockets, shifting his gaze to the ground. “Wouldn’t have helped much. They weren’t lying about that. Even knowing what was inside, I still nearly wet myself with that last blimey trick.” He looked up, his eyes on Ice. “I wasn’t right all along, you were. I mean, we are what we are, at the start, but that’s got nothing to do with where we end. Right?”

  She looked at him for an age, her gaze narrowing with each second, then, “Whatever.” She spun about. “I’m going to talk to Thomas.”

  “Does he know?” Flynn said. “Thomas?”

  Ice didn’t turn back, just paused. “Not yet.”

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  “I should, probably…he deserves to know, but I can’t. See you later.”

  “What will happen to him?” Flynn wondered as he watched Ice amble over there. Goodbye and good riddance. Leva must be okay, despite Milo’s spiteful wishes. She’d certainly looked as if she’d just seen a demon after her turn. “They wouldn’t kick him out.”

  “I wouldn’t know, Flynn!” he said, scowling furiously. “I don’t know everything!”

  “Hey,” Flynn groused, taken aback. “Put it in a song; don’t take it out on me.”

  Jack’s jaw worked, grinding his teeth loud enough to scrape Flynn’s brain.

  “Sorry,” Flynn said. “It’s been a day, yeah?”

  Jack’s eyes lifted to him. He looked as if he wanted to grin, grin and let it go, but couldn’t seem to make that happen. They were standing apart from the others, but he pulled Flynn even further down the path.

  “It’s Ice,” he ground out, his lips barely moving. “I would have seen it, if I hadn’t been so busy being a git head. Remember the night you arrived? The Bunker?”

  “How could I forget?” Flynn said dryly.

  “Yeah, well, remember how excited she was about seeing the Shadow demon?” He scuffed his feet, his eyes back on the ground. “She knew what that meant, seeing, or not seeing, the demon. What if that’s why she was so happy? Because she’d been worried she wouldn’t see it. And what about how mad she gets whenever I mention the importance of our Surge? And that book—” He looked up. “What was she doing with that stupid book?”

  Flynn saw where he was going, but he wasn’t convinced. “That was all for me. She knows Cold Slayers are the weakest. She had my back, that’s all.”

  “Maybe…” Jack shrugged.

  And maybe not.

  “It makes no difference,” Flynn said fiercely. He agreed, mostly, with Jack about slayer powers, but this was Ice.

  “Of course it doesn’t,” Jack said. “Isn’t that what I just told her? But I can’t take it all back, doesn’t work like that, huh?”

  “It wasn’t only you. Anyway,” Flynn said, trying to cheer them both up, “she really doesn’t pay us all that much attention.”

  “Now that is true,” Jack said, and a moment later he was grinning. “She’s too smart to do that.”

  THE FEVER OF THE House Trials reached a peak of excitement on Sunday morning. The juniors, led by Phoenix, had their final tra
ining session with Instructor Adango immediately after breakfast, which was a storm of speculation, the most popular being that there might be a hint of the challenges they’d be up against. There were sniggers from some of the seniors, but not a single one would confirm or deny a thing.

  After breakfast, Jack slid his pocket diary out of his bedside drawer and said he was going for a walk. When he did that, he usually stayed out for hours. He must have enough songs for at least three albums by now, but Flynn had yet to hear (or read) any. If he didn’t suspect that would be the end of their friendship, he would have sneaked a look ages ago.

  Flynn had just ended a call to Toby (only thee more days until the summer holidays!!) when a knock came at the bedroom door.

  He bounced off his bed. “Yeah?”

  Mrs. Avery poked her head inside. “There you are, Flynn. Can you come downstairs for a moment? I’d like a word.” She glanced around the room. “Do you know where Jack is?”

  “Said he was going for a walk.” Flynn flashed his phone as he followed her out. “Do you want me to call him?”

  “No, that’s fine,” she said after considering for a moment. “We’ll make do without him.”

  Which stopped Flynn from asking if they were in some sort of trouble.

  When they entered her private sitting room, Ice was already there, perched on the end of one of the sofas. She shook her head at the questioning look he gave her, shrugging.

  “I’ve just had Mrs. Forgue on the phone,” Mrs. Avery said, waving Flynn onto the sofa beside Ice while she seated herself across from them. “She’s quite upset, understandably so…”

  “Does that mean he’s not coming?” said Ice.

  “Worse, I’m afraid.” Mrs. Avery sighed, clasping her hands on her lap. “He’s refusing to take his pledge at all. I’ve offered our assistance, and we feel the best course of action is a visit. Perhaps chatting with slayers his own age will do some good. Today’s his birthday, you know…?”

  Ice nodded eagerly. Flynn gave her a dour look. She probably knew the hour and minute as well.

  Mrs. Avery’s mouth flattened into a grim smile. “We have until sunset to change the poor boy’s mind.”