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There is no hiding what he is asking. How easy it would be to say yes, and be two young men taking pleasure in one another, and forget the true nature of the world we live in.

“No,” I tell him, when I want to say yes. I don’t even amend it with, “Not yet.” I watch his face as it shifts. He pulls away a fraction. A storm is in his eyes; uncharacteristic and intense, I see something close to hatred flicker through him. Then he lets me go and steps away.

“I am too forward,” he says, half bowing. “I apologise.”

I say nothing. I am frozen in place. I manage to return the bow of his head, and he leaves without further comment. When I hear the door to his room close, I collapse onto the window seat and knock my head back against the glass.

That man is dangerous, I decide.

But that knowledge alone won’t be enough to stop my attraction.

10

LESSON TEN

The room is filled with red and purple light, bleeding through a dozen stained-glass windows. At the sound of a gong ringing out, marking the first trials’ commencement, we have been led out of the hall through a series of corridors. Now we are here: a chapel, I think. The ceilings raise high into a point, and a cold grey stone covers the walls and floors. Great portraits of God and Mary and Jesus hang, but they are not to be compared to the windows.

Everywhere I look, light leeches through the coloured glass in streams of purple and red, like a sunset haemorrhaging. Every corner of this chapel is filled with it, swarmed with it. Great suits of armour overlook us, sentinels against every wall. They are ceremonial, heavily decorated with embossed detail. I am overwhelmed by the feeling of godliness. The holy man in me, the one raised to fear my own existence, lures me down onto my knees. One or two students are already down and in prayer. But I do not go. I only whisper in my own mind, “Lord, whatever this is, preserve me. Preserve me for my mother.”

Whatever sin I almost committed with Leo, my willpower should reward me here. Or it better: I did not give up the embrace of such a man only to be punished now.

There is a sense of woe among us. The crowd of us are draped in so intense a veil of anxiety that we might as well become one great and fearful beast.

The tension could slice through me.

“There are seven doors behind me,” the dean explains. He stands to the left, basking in the soft glow of the sunlight. Blood Hunters frame him on either side. “Only eleven left us last night. Now, the name of every remaining prospective student is in this bowl. One-by-one, I will call out a name from this bowl. Each person will stand in front of a door from left to right as they are called. Once everyone is standing in front of a door, they will open. The trial is thus: once in the room, you must exit the room from the opposite door. The task is simple, but the obstacles are not. There are several instruments in the room. You may use all of them or none of them to complete the trial.”

A number of voices sound. The students turn to one another, shouting questions out to the dean. He answers none of them. I feel someone staring at me and turn to Leo. We hold each other’s gaze. We say nothing.

I regret not taking him to bed.

All of this feels wrong.

The dean pulls a name and reads it out over the cacophony. “Sara Tull.”

Part of the crowd quietens. Several people move away, exposing a pale-faced girl with brown hair pulled into a tight bun. She shivers and pushes her way forward to the first door. The dean reads out five more names, and each time my anxiety threatens to eat me alive.

Then: “Silas Lin.”

Fred makes a strangled noise. She is gripping Silas’ arm, eyes locked on his face. He stares impassively towards the dean for a moment before he turns to her and untangles himself from her grip.

“It’s alright,” he says softly, like he is cooing to a baby. “I’ll be alright.”

Fred sniffles, blinking back tears. “Good luck. Just… be careful.”

He considers her for a moment and nods slowly before he makes his way to the final door. I meet her gaze, and there is a look of pre-emptive mourning. Her eyes are full of sadness. Full of fear.

I whisper, “What do you think is behind that door?”

She stares at me a long while before she glances away and shrugs. I grimace. Am I alone in thinking something is wrong?

The dean looks over at the students lined up and gives a stern nod.

“Let the trials commence!”

As if by magic, the doors swing open. I strain forward with the rest of the crowd, eager to see inside. But there is nothing. The room is pitch black.

One by one, the prospective students slip into the dark.