The school was surrounded on all sides by a massive, unfriendly-looking iron fence topped with spikes. Most demons could easily make the sixteen-foot leap, or bend the bars apart, but only a fool would voluntarily antagonize the staff of Moorslynn Insititute. To prevent those idiots from disrupting the schedule, a spherical barrier of magic was also installed. Occasionally, on a clear day, a vague blue radiance was visible, but more than once an unlucky bird had knocked itself unconscious against it.
It was the first day of the new term and the sunlight splashed down on the gleaming silver fence and warmed the grass. On the broad front lawn stood a man in a trim grey suit, sans jackey, with his glasses slung low on his narrow nose. He twitched a smile at the road sprawled out in front of the gate, which, while open, was still warded by the barrier. With a flick of his wrist, the shield split into a doorway.
Darien Moorslynn, the youngest of the Moorslynn brothers, was the current Headmaster of the Institute, and on the first day it was his pleasure (and duty) to welcome the new and returning students. With any luck, none of them had been killed over the summer. Although facing demons without their diplomas was strictly forbidden, many of the young blowhards still tried their luck. Last year two of the second year class had died attacking a demon they’d discovered in a local park. It had been a bad scene—neither had been in any condition for an open-casket funeral. The culprit had been summarily executed by a team of professors, but that didn’t fix anything. Darien closed his eyes for a long moment, then schooled his face into a practiced smile as a student stepped across the threshold.
It was the first day of the new term and the sunlight splashed down on the gleaming silver fence and warmed the grass. On the broad front lawn stood a man in a trim grey suit, sans jackey, with his glasses slung low on his narrow nose. He twitched a smile at the road sprawled out in front of the gate, which, while open, was still warded by the barrier. With a flick of his wrist, the shield split into a doorway.
Darien Moorslynn, the youngest of the Moorslynn brothers, was the current Headmaster of the Institute, and on the first day it was his pleasure (and duty) to welcome the new and returning students. With any luck, none of them had been killed over the summer. Although facing demons without their diplomas was strictly forbidden, many of the young blowhards still tried their luck. Last year two of the second year class had died attacking a demon they’d discovered in a local park. It had been a bad scene—neither had been in any condition for an open-casket funeral. The culprit had been summarily executed by a team of professors, but that didn’t fix anything. Darien closed his eyes for a long moment, then schooled his face into a practiced smile as a student stepped across the threshold.