“Apologies if I scared you.” Dr. Thorn stopped in front of a row of elevators. He pressed the ‘up’ button with his nose. “Some students survive, and some deserve to die.”

  “Good thing Officer Jeremy was there to help,” Lawrence said, tactful.

  “I don’t carry ID. What do I look like? A mortal? I’m a high-level beast. I don’t wear clothes. I don’t have pockets or hands. I live here. If I wasn’t the VP, I’d still be faculty. He knows who I am. Stupid git.”

  “Perhaps Mr. Bryan should redo his training?” Lawrence suggested.

  “Training? We don’t train our student workers. Bah.”

  The doors opened. Dr. Thorn squeezed in. Lawrence squeezed in next to him. The doors closed. The demon pressed a button with his nose. The elevator rose.

  “Why can’t I stay in the magic dorm?” Lawrence asked.

  “It’s full. When someone dies, maybe you can take their place. If you survive.”

  The doors opened. The demon squeezed out. Lawrence followed him down a hallway.

  “Each dorm is larger on the inside. You won’t know until you get in. We are on floor eleven of Culling. The top floors are off-limits, as is the sub-basement. Culling’s basement has the laundry machines, as well as the tunnels connecting it to Ordoghaz and the campus center. The Student Dining Room is also down there.”

  They reached the end of the hall. There should have been a wall with a window set into it. Instead, there was a square of shadow with a stone path leading into a meadow. A dark, foreboding forest surrounded the meadow.

  “Culling houses the Horror students. Supernatural slashers, poltergeists, and the like. In the middle of this meadow is the Folk Horror village. It is where you’ll be staying.”

  In the middle of the meadow a collection of small cottages huddled around a central bonfire. Gray smoke rose from the burning timbers. Dr. Thorn did not venture out of the hallway. His paws stopped right at the edge.

  “This is a place of Power. Something dark lives here. A malefic presence watches. Stick to the path.” Dr. Thorn dipped his head at the stones. “Don’t go in the woods. Fell creatures breed here. Creatures even Maelstrom’s legions ware to wake. Introduce yourself to the Resident Supervisor and ask for a room. Breakfast starts at six-thirty in the SDR. Classes at eight. You must go to Administration to select your major. Luck, boy. If I don’t see you, I’ll assume you died.”

  The demon padded away.

  “My thanks,” Lawrence said, deadpan. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He turned his head. He jumped. For a moment, he thought he saw a shadow flit across the hall. A pair of eyes gleamed in the darkest corner. Lawrence gulped.

  He left the not-safety of the horror dorm hallway. He entered the meadow. He followed the gray stone path. He dared not deviate from it. The path curved through the long grass like a snake. His heart hammered in his chest. His breath was loud in his ears. He imagined all sorts of things in the dark, but the forest was silent. His footsteps were loud. It sounded like the whole meadow could hear him. He knew something malevolent watched.

  The air stank of wood and moss. There were no bugs. No forest creatures moved. No birds spoke. Lawrence sensed something behind him. He forced himself to keep walking at the same, measured pace.

  His hand drifted toward the small of his back. He retrieved a small device. It looked like two PEZ-sized plastic cases connected by a hinge. It was a little bigger than a credit card, and it weighed a few pounds. Lawrence slipped it into his hand. He unfolded the weapon without thinking, then turned. He raised his free hand as he did.

  Lawrence always kept a pocket pistol on his person. He never left home without a pistol and a knife. Some survivalists always had flint and steel. Lawrence could make fire. Speaking of, he gathered his will. He let his mana be the fuel, and his will the ignition.

  He saw a pair of gleaming eyes, a long, low, black-furred body. The creature was ten paces behind him, unafraid. It prepared to pounce.

  Lawrence sprayed fire. Orange light and heat lit up the meadow. The creature howled. It batted the fire. It fled into the grass. Lawrence sprayed fire into the air.

  He kept a fire lit the rest of the way. He rubber-necked every which way, but he didn’t see any shapes moving through the long grass. The long grass was where predators hunted. Would he have to dodge those monsters every time he wanted to leave?

  He made it to the Village. All the houses were one-room shacks. The lights were dark. No smoke curled from chimneys. Whatever life lived here was long gone. This place was empty and dead. Lawrence circled the burning bonfire at the center. Flames rose ten feet overhead. Brilliant light and heat shone around the village. Lawrence saw dark shapes circle the perimeter outside the shacks. He squared up with the lonely hut at the rear.

  The hut was a little way off. Its position made the circle of cabins more like a teardrop. Lawrence felt as if it watched him, but there were no windows. There was no door in the hut. It had four walls made of logs, a thatch roof. It had one chimney, though no smoke rose.

  “Behold the mother of forests,” Lawrence recited. Mom had given him flashcards. “Little hut, little hut, turn your back to the forest. Little hut, little hut, turn your front to me.”

  The cabin groaned. It jolted free of the ground, as if something under it awoke. It rotated like a swivel chair, all the more impressive because houses did not swivel.

  Two circular windows sat like eyes on either side of a narrow wooden door. Warm, golden light shone from inside. The door resembled a wide nose. The roof sloped down sideways to either side, vaguely resembling wings. The hut settled.

  Lawrence knew what to do. He knew he was out of his league. His heart hammered. Absolute terror filled every inch of his body. He realized he was shaking. He couldn’t stop shaking. Even if he was a great wizard, the thing waiting for him was miles above anything he’d seen in Maelstrom. The demonic nobles of the pain house couldn’t hold a candle to this ancient horror.

  Still, light meant safety. Between the thing in the hut and the creatures in the field, Lawrence knew which he’d prefer. There was no going back. It would take a miracle to survive this. He wasn’t sure if surviving was better than dying. It might be better to kill himself and take his chances as a damned in Maelstrom, than deal with eternity here.

  “Who is it?” a woman’s voice said. She sounded like beetles devouring a corpse. “You may enter.”

  Lawrence felt his feet move. He approached his destiny. He knocked.

  “Enter, boy,” rasped the voice.

  Lawrence pushed the door open. The interior was dark. He stepped inside and shut the door. His eyes adjusted. He saw a cauldron big enough for a person. One corner held a cot piled high with furs. A small hearth sat next to it. A flame blossomed to life in the hearth. Lawrence saw a face in it, which he supposed was an ifrit.

  Another corner held a rocking chair. A basket of yarn sat next to it. One wall held a kitchenette, a small table, and one chair. It was a place without electricity or running water. The room smelled of smoke and dried herbs. It was too warm. Shadows stretched the wrong way. Lawrence noted most of the shadows centered on the woman opposite him. She stood behind the cauldron. She was beautiful.

  White skin, flawless complexion, piercing green eyes with flecks of gold, round human pupils, straight black hair down her back. She wore a simple white homespun dress with a golden rope around her waist. No shoes. No jewelry either, though she did not need it. Even without pretty stones, she sparkled.

  “Sit down, child.” The woman said with a voice like honey. She motioned to one of the two chairs. The second one seemed to have just appeared . “Are you hungry? I was about to eat.”

  Lawrence did not move. He realized he still shook. Knowing made him tremble even more.

  “You’re frightened,” the woman said. “Why are you afraid? Nothing here will hurt you here. Come. Sit. You must be exhausted.”

  Lawrence did feel exhausted and cold. The woman promised safety and comfort. A warm night in front of a fire while the cold passed outside. Oh yes, it felt just like heaven. This was a haven amidst the darkness. A place where he could relax. Lawrence did not move.

  The beautiful woman waited. After a long moment, she took slow steps around the cooking pot. She moved to one of the chairs. She sat.

  “Take off your shoes, boy,” she said, gesturing. “Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

  Lawrence did not take his shoes off. His fingers curled. On pure instinct, he kept his mana ready to burn.

  “Relax, boy.” The woman’s tone hardened. “I’m not going to harm you.”

  Lawrence shook like a leaf in a storm. He slid sideways a small amount, toward the doorknob.

  “Don’t you have a tongue?” The supermodel said. “Speak.”

  Lawrence found his wits. “My apologies for intruding, ma’am.” He bent at the waist. “I was told to introduce myself to the resident supervisor. Do you, perchance, know where they are?”

  “I am she,” the woman said. She had perfect white teeth. “You may call me Grandmother.”

  “My thanks, Grandmother.”

  “Sit down, boy,” Grandmother motioned to the chair within grabbing distance.

  Lawrence glanced at the pot. It took a tenth of a second. Within the short time, Grandmother did nothing. Lawrence lifted his hand to the doorknob.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Lazily, like a reclining cat, Grandmother glanced at the enormous cast iron cooking pot.

  “Why are you afraid of me, boy?” she said. “I said you were safe.”

  “I was raised by witches, Grandmother,” Lawrence mumbled. “I have a… I can see through…” he recalled the phrasing his real grandmother used. “I see with more than just my eyes.”

  “Ah.” Grandmother smiled, the expression of an angel. “Do boys enjoy seeing beneath the skin of the world?”

  Lawrence had no answer. Grandmother took his silence as confirmation. She grew more… blurry, as if a cloud of steam emanated from her skin. As the fog grew, her body and dress became vague blobs. The cloud vanished. Sitting in the chair was a thing out of a nightmare. It looked at him with obvious hunger.

  Lawrence’s heart hammered. His adrenaline spiked.

  The creature may have once been human. Hard living and dark magic had long since eroded any semblance of humanity. The creature had a feminine body. She was an ancient woman with a bowed back, and a thin, bony frame. Her gaunt face had a beaky, hooked nose and disheveled white hair.

  Behind a curtain of hair, Lawrence saw two bright, malevolent eyes sizing him up like he was a chicken pot pie. In the shadows of her hut, she looked small and weak, but Lawrence could see through illusions. He knew she was strong enough to throw him into her pot. She could keep him there while he stewed.

  She smelled like a charnel house. Earth, dirt, dampness, overflowing with the sick-sweet putrid odor of a rotting corpse congealing.

  “Are you afraid of me?” Grandmother said in her deep, raspy, skin-crawling voice.

  Lawrence, mouth agape, shook his head.

  “Liar.” She showed her teeth. They were all iron. “I despise liars, boy.”

  “You haven’t offered me guest-right, Grandmother.” A lightbulb went off in Lawrence’s head. “Wait, no. I am delighted to accept your kind invitation of food and security. I offer my thanks in gratitude for your generosity.”

  “My hospitality?” the old hag sneered. She rose from her chair. “When did I offer that?”

  “When you invited me to enter your house, Grandmother,” Lawrence said without thinking. He couldn’t swallow his fear, and his courage had deserted him, but he forced himself to move across the space between them. Even though he wanted to scream like a little girl and run, he took the seat across from her.

  “You invited me to enter. You promised not to harm me. You told me to take a seat and relax. You are a most gracious host, Grandmother.” Lawrence smiled, too terrified to do anything else.

  The old hag showed him her teeth. Claws slid from her fingernails as her hands flexed. She sat.

  “Well done, boy,” she rasped in a tone so cold it could have frozen vodka. “Perhaps there is hope for you yet. May I have your name?”

  “You may not,” Lawrence said. “I can tell you my name, but I cannot give it to you.”

  “Indeed.” Grandmother eyed him. “Why are you here, boy?”

  Lawrence told her in short, mumbled sentences. He avoided her piercing gaze. She didn’t seem to blink as much as most people. Or ever.

  “Tell me your name, boy.”

  “Faoil Wulfr.”

  “And your parents, boy?”

  “I don’t know my parents, Grandmother.” Lawrence looked at the table. “My mom was sister to Lady Lupa of Auric Cat. I don’t know my father.”

  “Ah, miss Lupa.” Grandmother’s eyes closed in remembrance. “Sweet girl. Brilliant, rebellious. How is she?”

  “Happily married.”

  “Bah,” Grandmother waved her hand. “More good women have been lost to marriage than war, famine, and disaster combined. She had talent, boy. Why waste it?”

  “I cannot speak for my mother’s decisions, Grandmother,” Lawrence said. “My apologies.”

  “Peace, boy.” Grandmother eyed him. “Appraise

  Lawrence swallowed. He sat in silence while the old hag studied his Status. After what felt like an hour, her shoulders relaxed. She rose from the table—making him jump—but she moved away from him. She retrieved a bowl, a spoon, and two cups. She scooped something out of the enormous pot. She set the bowl in front of him with the spoon.

  She set a kettle on the lit hearth to boil. She returned to her chair. She looked down at the bowl and spoon.

  “Eat.”

  Lawrence picked up the spoon. Under her watchful eye, he scooped a spoonful of the porridge. He levered the unknown material to his mouth. Refusing to eat a host’s food was a grave insult. It had to be edible and safe to eat… It tasted like meat, wild onions, and potatoes. Lawrence kept eating.

  The kettle whistled.

  “Not everyone knows the words to enter my hut, boy. It is rare I offer help to lost little boys. Usually, they join me for dinner.” Grandmother poured two cups of tea. Where Lawrence could see, she added some herbs. She murmured a short rhyme over the tea. Lawrence recognized it as a blessing. She set one of the cups in front of him. She resumed her seat and sipped. “Drink.”

  Lawrence sipped the tea. It prickled his throat, like swallowing a thornbush.

  “Do you know why you are still alive, boy?”

  Lawrence shook his head.

  “I have a soft spot for outcasts. Lost children. I recognize your blood. I smell it. The beast, the bird, the leech, the wrong one. I don’t care from whence you come. I am Grandmother. Do you understand?”

  Lawrence nodded.

  “Speak, boy.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The old hag’s eyes glittered.

  “Blood will earn no shortcuts here. If you are clever, brave, work hard, and do not whine, then perhaps there may be a place for you here. But if you are ever dishonest, a coward, or arrogant? Well, my pot is quite large. I am always hungry. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Grandmother.” Lawrence dared not look away from those malevolent eyes.

  “Have you brought me any gifts, boy?”

  “A man’s respect, Grandmother, and a grandson’s company.”

  Grandmother scowled, unimpressed.

  “Men have no place here, boy. This is a haven for witches. You defile it with your presence.”

  “My apologies, Grandmother.” Lawrence put down his tea. He sat up straighter. “Would you like me to leave?”

  Grandmother seemed to consider it for a long moment. She examined the tea leaves at the bottom of her cup, divining the future. She set her cup down. She thought for a long minute, appraising him.

  “I will allow you to have a place within my village, boy,” she said with inflection indicating she was not finished speaking.

  Lawrence waited.

  “You may not join my coven. Not yet. We will see. Your place is the house to the left of mine as you enter. Your first task is to survive the night. In your quarters will be a map of the school and a copy of the Student Life Guide. Before tomorrow morning, you must acquire textbooks and supplies from the supply closet. It is in the tunnels, on the other side of the ehssdeeare, by seepoh. Do you understand?”

  “No,” Lawrence admitted. “But I bet you’re going to tell me to figure it out.”

  “Good boy. You may yet survive.” Grandmother’s smile was flinty. “None of my daughters have graduated since your mother. We will see if you do.”

  “I have a question, Grandmother.”

  “You may speak.”

  “Um. Who were my parents?”

  Grandmother studied him for a long time. She said nothing. She refilled his cup.

  “Do you know how one becomes a witch, child?”

  “No, Grandmother,” Lawrence not-quite-lied. He caught the honorific change. It was a small sign of compassion on her part, he thought.

  “You need a passionate moment, a talent for magic or wish to be a witch. Some are called to it. You must wear a hat and find your craft to level. Never forget, boy, to be a Witch is to try. Do you understand?”

  “No, Grandmother.” Lawrence frowned. He did not want to be a Witch; he wanted to be a Wizard. Besides, how did this relate to discovering who he was?

  “Bah. Ignorant boy. Next time, pay attention.” She waved a hand. “Now begone. Let me sleep in peace.”

  Lawrence rose. He bowed low at the waist, earning a vague softening of her expression. He backed away to the door. He opened it.

  “Grandmother, do you need anything from the supply closet?”

  “Hmm?” The old hag’s eyebrows rose. She thought for a second. “No. Now go, boy. Mind you always keep a fire lit and a weapon ready. The school will eat the unwary.”

  “My thanks Grandmother.” Lawrence left without ever turning his back. He shut the door behind himself. He exhaled in relief. He walked down the stone path to the circle surrounding the bonfire. He found the house she told him. It was a small, one-room hovel. It had a lit lantern sitting next to the door.

  Inside, his hovel was even smaller than hers, less decorated. It had nothing. No furniture, no bed, no pot. There was a hearth filled with black ash, but no logs or sparks. Lawrence shut the door. He scooped the ashes into a pail and dumped them outside. He found a stack of wood out back. He stacked a few logs and set them on fire.

  Grandmother. Dark, mysterious, cryptic, dangerous, often malevolent, sometimes benevolent. Sometimes she ate lost children and sometimes she took them home. Lawrence had a feeling most of the eaten were boys and most of the returned kids were girls. Women flocked together like birds.

  Most witches were women, and it was rare for one to live in a town. Society was patriarchal, often mean to women. Embracing nature meant embracing freedom, sexuality, power. Lawrence felt like an interloper.

  He was a boy seeking wisdom and teaching from the biggest queen witch of old ladies. If there was ever a patron deity of witches, Grandmother was their god. He took a deep breath. His heart began to slow. Calling him ‘child’ was a word with layers of symbolism. It meant recognition, a claim of kinship, permission to learn.

  “Status

  Unlocked Jobs: Farmer, Rancher, Tamer, Student, Sewer, Spinner, Weaver, Gamer, Survivor, Samurai, Stalwart, Researcher, Reader, Scholar, Witch, Writer

  As a human mortal, Lawrence had three Main Job slots and six Side Jobs. He had taken Knitter as a Main and ground it up to twenty-four. Extensive research had uncovered all the possible Skills his unlocked Jobs could get. Lawrence had avoided picking anything because he wanted to be a mage. Levelling mage got exponentially harder if he had other Jobs.

  Still, he was now at a dark academy. He didn’t know what lay ahead. He needed to find his major first, then he could pick Jobs to enable success. For now, he needed to survive the night.

  For survival, the best option was Survivor. Lawrence sighed. He wanted to be a mage. Stupid No Affinity Curse. He had 1000 Knowledge and 1000 Mental. Mana was calculated at [(KNW*10)+MNT]. He had 11,000 points of mana, but no spells because spells were controlled by Affinity. Still, he could burn his mana by igniting it with his will. Arcane physics gave him a loophole.

  [(VIG*10)+PWR] equaled hit points. His were 108. Stamina was likewise 100. He regenerated one point each of health and stamina per minute, and 1.5 mana. It would take 108 minutes to recharge his health from zero, assuming he could somehow survive death. It would take 122 hours to recharge all his mana from zero, or five full days. Thank you low Wisdom score.

  Student Job selected. Student – lvl. 1 (+3 EDU, +3 MNT, +3 LCK)]

  Student Skills unlocked: Note-Taking, Exam Nerves, Quick Reader.

  Note-Taking made it easy to “take notes,” even if he wasn’t in a lecture. It boosted learning and comprehension, which was invaluable for most people in all areas of one’s life. Lawrence knew better than most about the different kinds of intelligence. The world itself said he was born smarter than most people, though it did not specify in which way. In his experience, he was academic smart and people dumb. Regardless, learning speed was an okay way to tell whether someone was intelligent. Smart people picked up new things faster.

  Quick Reader was the same thing, but it applied to books. Lawrence wanted to take one of his high-end academic Jobs like Researcher or Scholar. Those would be a waste until society realized his intelligence was a gift for all mankind. He sighed.

  Skill selected: Exam Nerves. Exam Nerves – lvl. 1 (+3 MNT, +3 SAN, +3 WIL).

  Exam Nerves: When under pressure, gain a 10% boost to problem-solving or precision. Each level increases by 1%.

  Lawrence squatted over the toilet. It took a long time and a lot of work. The package was the wrong shape for this. It wasn’t flexible enough. Lawrence’s rectum wasn’t stretched enough. He didn’t know how long he sat there, but eventually, the plastic baggie came out.

  He fished it out. He washed it in the sink with soap. Once it was clean and the smell had faded, he opened it. He pulled out a black shirt made of soft cotton. He pulled off the rubber band. Poor Rook had helped with this, against the golem’s will. The smell took forever to clean. It left Lawrence’s bedroom in need of an air freshener. Wrapped up in the center was a folded knife.

  The shirt had a silhouette of a colossal, armored fiend with enormous black wings. The fiend wore spiky black armor and carried a halberd the size of a telephone pole. Big bold letters underneath said in all caps: GENERAL BLACKWING. It was a novelty shirt he’d gotten in Maelstrom. It was a way to build a fandom for the ruler of Blood Well. It was Lawrence’s favorite shirt. He put it on. The plastic bag stank, but the shirt smelled like Home.

  Lawrence’s heart ached for home, but he had work to do. Grandmother wanted him to go through the tunnels to the supply closet. He had to pass by the SDR, the Student Dining Room, and CPO, the Campus Post Office. Dr. Thorn had taken him through the tunnels. Lawrence smelled dinosaur down there.

  No doubt he’d search the closet for a few small things, then a velociraptor would enter. He knew demons kept exotic pets. Velociraptors were the perfect predators for a school basement dungeon crawl. He had a hunch he’d see two or three. Still, he could burn mana to make fire. Predators feared fire. He had a hunch he’d survive.